#I think not having a proper space of my own to work is getting to me
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cellophaine · 21 hours ago
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Chapter I: En Avant
Masterlist
Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Warnings: Fluff.
Word Count: 5.2k
Author's Note: The first chapter is finally here!! I'm very excited to bring this new series to you. It's what I've been thinking about for a few months now. It came to me while I was still working on A Languor Spell, and now I can give it my full attention. Thank you for your patience! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter!
P/S: This is my first time writing in present tense, so if there's any mistake please let me know so I can fix it!
Disclaimer: I'm not a professional ballet dancer. I'm an adult beginner, and I've been taking classes consistently for over a year now. I just want to say that the series isn't written with the experience of a professional ballerina, but with my love for the art and the extensive research that I've done and will continue to do. I don't choose to write the Reader as a ballerina because of the aesthetic, but because I think there are so many things to explore in the original story that I've come up with, with the Reader being in the industry.
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GIF Source: @/petertingle-yipyip
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There has always been an emptiness residing within the frame of your body. In the absence of your old life, it has grown expeditiously. It carves into your body and makes a home in the forefront of your mind. On worse days, you feel as if anyone can see at first glance, how incomplete of a person you are. On better days, like today, you can hide it well, even from your closest friend. But right now, sitting in a dimly lit bar across from the friend you have known since you moved to this city at 18, you feel the person you're supposed to be has taken your anatomy apart. You're disembodied, scattered, and fractional.
Jo notices your silence and reaches over the table, laying her hand atop yours.
“Have you thought about my offer?”
Jo’s proposal. How can you not think about it? It has never left your mind ever since she mentioned it. Her newly acquired gym could be a place for you to get back to dancing in complete privacy. And you won’t have to pay a dime.
“I spruced up the place a little bit and will be adding more equipment. I can get whatever you need so it can be a proper space for you to practice.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”
Jo casts a sympathetic look at you, her voice careful.
“How’s your foot?”
You flex and point the right foot under the table, recalling the phantom pain that was your consistent companion for the most part of last year.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Are you still seeing Amy?”
“Of course. She’d bite my head off if I missed our appointment.”
You share a knowing chuckle, knowing Amy's personality. You know her through Jo, and they dated briefly in college. The two stayed friends afterward. After leaving Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre, your physical health was left to your own management. Your gaps of knowledge were filled in by Amy, a physical therapist who stepped in and offered her help voluntarily when Jo mentioned your situation. You still meet biweekly at her practice in Harlem, and the three of you hang out from time to time.
“Come to my gym.”
She hastily continues once she sees the decline perches on your pressed lips.
“It’s free.”
“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll have to get a barre, and the flooring might not be suitable–“
“I don’t care about the cost. I just want to do this for you. Let someone do a nice thing for you every once in a while.”
You meet her eyes, resisting her act of kindness with silence. You know how to pick your battles, and this is the one you have lost from the start, judging by Jo's stern gaze. You sigh.
“I’ll think about it.”
A victory smile graces her lips.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
Jo leans into the table, her hand reaching for yours.
“I want to see you dance on the stage again. You’re a beautiful ballerina, and I know this is not the end for you.”
You know she means well, but her words feel like claws, sinking their sharp ends into your heart. You haven't danced since the injury, and a part of you knows that you might never dance as well as you once did. The best version of you had lived that life to its fullest potential, the life of endless classes and rehearsals, soldout shows, ending many nights and seasons to the deafening cheers from the audience. Your current self is only a shadow, living a partial existence and mourning the past as time passes and your grasp on it weakens.
You want the endless optimism Jo seems to possess. She’s always so assertive in everything she does. From her university days pursuing a bachelor's degree in sports science to her boxing competition days to buying a gym, she has a sense of self-assurance that carries her throughout the years you've known her ever since you became roommates when you first moved to New York. And you admire that about her endlessly. Her goals might vary, but her passion for them never wavers. Her faith in you seems to share the same sentiment.
You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, hoping your face doesn't betray your true thoughts. Jo squeezes your hand and lets go. She checks her wristwatch, and with a silent glance, you understand that she has to leave. Jo meets you as you stand up from your side of the booth, drawing you into a crushing hug.
“Will you be okay here?”
She pulls back. You smile and pat her shoulder.
“I’ll be fine. Just want to finish my drink.”
She takes a step backward as she waves.
“Good luck tomorrow!”
You raise your hand in response and watch her tall and brawny frame vanish through the door. You drop your arm, but you don't sit down. Taking a discreet glance at the bar, your heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the sight of the stranger you noticed earlier when you bought the drinks.
As you waited for your drinks, he came in and settled for a spot at the bar. The lady whose name you learned earlier, Josie, greeted him, asking where his friends were, so you assumed he was a regular. He was good-looking, you admitted before finding yourself staring at him. You averted your gaze, but couldn't help taking in other details. The folded cane rested on the bar top as Josie slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. The scarred knuckles as he brought it to his lush lips. The suit was pristine for the most part except for the minimal wrinkles from the day's wear and the loosened tie. The red-tinted glasses perched on his pronounced nose, under the tousled sweep of dark hair. The soft smile brightened his handsome face as the other bartender told him something, which you had to tear your eyes away from when Josie placed the drinks in front of you. You thanked her and headed back to your table, feeling a touch of disappointment in your throat.
There is no denying that you want to approach him. But your nerves intervene with all the questions. What if he rejected you? What if he thought you were a creep for approaching him? What if he just wanted to be left alone? He has been sitting by the bar by himself ever since he came in, you notice. You'd ask if you could join him, and possibly buy him a drink if he was up for it. If he said no, that'd be fine. You would respect his wish and leave him alone. You have a feeling you'd regret it if you didn't at least try.
You gulp down your drink for a little liquid courage and make your way over to the bar. Your heart rate accelerates the closer you get to him, but you are determined to get over the little hurdle. You stop within a conversational distance and use your best composed voice.
“Hey, may I join you?”
He turns in his seat and gives you a friendly smile.
“Of course not. Please do.”
The high chair is a comfortable and respectful distance away from his, but still close enough for a private conversation. The stranger has angled his body toward you, and his openness eases the knot in your stomach. At this distance, you can see that he is even more handsome up close. Heat seeps into your cheeks at the full comprehension of his handsomeness up close. The neon signs around help shape the shadows and highlights that are already there in his features. The strong jawline and defined nose blend in harmony with the soft hair and luscious lips. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his moving lips, and only a brief moment later you realize he has asked for your name.
You tell him and laugh nervously, blaming the lively ambience around you. He humours you with a chuckle of his own and reciprocates.
"Matt. Nice to meet you."
“Nice to meet you.”
He reaches out with a hand, and you grab it. Your heart beats a little faster at the feel of his hand, warm and a little rough. You pull away first, conscious of the coldness of your hand. You eye his almost empty glass.
“Would you like another drink?”
“If that makes you stay with me for the rest of the evening, I’d love one.”
Charming. You allow an amused and breathy chuckle to escape, and order another fill of your drinks. When Josie turns away to make them, Matt asks.
“What are we celebrating tonight?”
You think about it for a moment.
“This is not really a celebration since I haven’t gotten the job yet.”
“When is the interview?”
“It's … tomorrow.”
His brows raise above the glasses.
“Are you nervous?”
“A little bit. It’s been a while since my last normal job.”
“What were you doing before?”
Josie puts down the drinks in front of you.
“I’m a– I was a ballerina.”
“Was?”
You run a finger over the cool and smooth edge of the glass, taking a moment to tell a stranger about one of your worst shame.
“I haven’t danced professionally in over a year."
“May I ask why?"
The edge of his lips settles into a neutral line. No pity, just a willingness to listen. It is exactly what you need.
“Yes, but it's just … complicated.”
“How so?”
The old life that you once lived feels so out of your grasp now. Besides the occasional flareups, most mornings, you get up with minimal or no degree of soreness or pain, and you fear that signals the end of your life as a ballerina.
Retirement in your late twenties wasn't something you thought of when you were 18, fresh out of high school with an offer letter from Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre. Moving from a small, sylvan town to a big, lively city like New York was a dream come true. You got to live out the life your younger self used to dream about. How wonderful it was. Dancing on the big stage before the bright stage lights in front of the audience. The early classes, late stage calls, costume fittings, and demanding rehearsals leading up to the shows were all worth it. Because when you got to dance, it was just you and the music. Your body knew the techniques, learned the steps and how to master them. You bent music with your carefully crafted movements and turned the piece into your own interpretation. You worked hard on your craft and artistic abilities, and you thought that it paid off with your promotion from corps de ballet to the first soloist assembly after six years.
But for Matt's sake, you don't go into any of that.
“Well … at my old company, the group of highest rank dancers is smaller compared to other companies. It’s a great honour and a big deal to be promoted to principal. Christine was one of them, and she decided to retire. The head artistic director wanted to appoint a first soloist, which is just a step below principal, to take over in her place. I was a soloist, and I thought it was my opportunity since I've been with the company for the longest out of everyone in the group. I also understudied for Christine in many productions, on top of the roles I had to prepare and perform. I pushed myself really hard that season to prove that I could do it. I was in and out of classes, rehearsals, and performances every day for over three months. On the days we had two shows a day, oftentimes I'd have to perform in both so Christine could have a break."
Matt listens intently, following your words with an attentiveness that you find endearing.
“In the final week of Sleeping Beauty, I had this pain along my heel. But I ignored it and pushed through out of fear that they would dismiss me. At that point, they already had a favourite. One of the directors even told me that I should quit while I was ahead and that I should be happy staying as a soloist."
You swallow the lump in your throat and go on.
"I couldn't take my bow that night, because as soon as my part was done and I went behind the stage, I passed out. It turned out I got an Achilles rupture.
“I had the surgery and was in a boot for a while. I was so desperate to show them my dedication and how good I was by going back to the studio just the day after they allowed me to go without the boot. And I made the injury worse. I was admitted for a partial rupture a week later.”
You thought you could do it. Bearing and hiding the pain so you would stand out as the best selection for the new principal dancer. Yet, all of that hard work didn’t matter in the end. It never mattered the moment Claudia Mavis signed a contract with Lady Liberty.
“In the hospital, the head director told me that they would go with Claudia, even though by that point she had been with the company for only one season. One of the people that I was closed with told me that Claudia left her previous company because they wouldn’t promote her. During a physical therapy session, Claudia told me that they offered her the new contract two weeks before my accident. So I never had the chance in the first place.”
You take a long sip of your drink after the story.
"That is very unfair to you. You deserve more than what they gave you."
You shrug.
“Well, it happened. I have learned to accept it a while ago.”
The hurt is still there, albeit more dull. While you want to blame your departure on the circumstances, you know a part of it is for you to bear as well. Matt becomes thoughtful, and you can see the way he considers his question.
“Do you miss it?”
“I … do. Not the toxic culture, but the dancing itself. It’s like a kind of language that I was fluent in. A form of self-expression that I could indulge in.”
“I’m sure when you come back to it, you will still be amazing.”
You don't even try to hide the disbelieving and playful scoff that escapes.
“You're just flattering me.”
There's not a trace of that cocky confidence of a man who thinks he just scores big with a woman because of a throwaway, vague statement he thinks will please her.
“I mean it. I enjoy music and dance performances in a way most can’t. When I really pay attention, I can hear … movements. The rhythm of someone’s feet striking the ground in time with the music when done right is beautiful. The way you talk about ballet shows me how much you truly care for the art. Like you live and breathe it.”
You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth in quiet contemplation before answering him.
“I did. It was a big part of my life.”
“It still can be.”
You let out a noncommittal hum.
"We'll see."
You took sips of your respective drinks, allowing the moment to reset itself. But Matt isn't quite done with the questions. You give him the go-ahead.
"Why ballet?"
“I just love the duality of it. We're supposed to look graceful and effortless while our blisters have blisters, our toes are bleeding, our legs are cramping. We have to dance through all of that and much worse. I like the pain sometimes. It means that I’m doing it right.”
“I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”
The quip takes you by surprise, but you quickly recover.
"Huh. I usually don't reveal that information to anyone until I'm ready to sleep with them."
Matt's tongue licks at his bottom lip, amused by your response.
"Maybe we are just that compatible."
Maybe it is the alcohol that makes you a little lightheaded, but the conversation has taken on a flirty turn, and you lean into each other's space, sharing a bashful, quiet laugh.
The person who took the seat next to yours when you were in the middle of your story bumps into you from behind, pushing you further into Matt's space. They apologize, and you tell them it's fine. The bar top has grown a little more crowded with new visitors. You think about what you could do to make some space when Matt reaches out and pulls your chair closer, so close that your knees touch. The contact is minimal, yet insistent, and you can't help the heat that races to your skin and the wild rhythms of your heart. Even your internal self admits that was the hottest thing Matt has done so far.
You clear your thoughts, focusing on the man sitting so much closer to you now.
“I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been talking about myself for the past hour.”
“No, don't stop. I like it. You have a beautiful voice.”
If he kept this going, you would need to check yourself for a fever. You clear your throat.
“So, what do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I have our own practice here in Hell's Kitchen.”
“Wow, that's amazing. What do you specialize in?”
“A little bit of everything. We started out representing people who can’t afford the legal service. Pro bono work basically. We still do that, but we have been getting more clients who can pay for our services.”
“Hm. It makes perfect sense. I can see that about you. The good guy.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“You know the right questions to ask. You got me talking about myself for … way too long. And your face …”
You trail off. Almost two drinks have worked their magic on your unabashed honesty.
“My face?”
His plush lips lift in a curious smile.
“Yeah, your face. You made me feel … safe and welcome so I could tell my story. Your face stayed neutral when I went on and on about it. No pity or judgment. You looked like you really cared about me, or my case.”
“I do care about you. And for the record, I appreciate every detail you gave me.”
You know that he might say this just to please you, but his earnestness says otherwise.
“Thank you. I needed that. Not many people care about me, especially after my fallout with the company.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”
Matt puts a hand on yours on the bar top. You stared at his scarred knuckles, your heart beating along the seam of your body with a slight increase in rhythm. Your hand itched to weave itself into his, to lay flat against the warmth of his palm. As if your body has thrown caution to the wind and wants to do just exactly what it wants to, your pointer finger moves involuntarily. He pulls his hand back, an apology on his lips.
“I’m sorry–“
“No, don’t.”
You reach out with the other hand and keep Matt there. You run your thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him, to tell him that this is okay. You want this. The additional contact exhilarates you, as you haven't felt another’s touch that isn't from Jo or Amy in a long time. Dating has always been the last thing on your mind, especially in the past year. But right here, right now, being with Matt is easy. There is no pressure. No hindrance. Even though you've met only for two hours, Matt has listened to you. He takes a soft and shaky breath, and your eyes follow the way his chest slightly expands.
Your pointer finger traces the raised edges of his scars, and he lets you. The air seems to thin as your pulse drums a frantic beat under your skin.
“Do you beat people up in your client’s honour?”
“Only those who deserve it.”
You chuckle, and you lean into him as if you can't help yourself. The world has gone quiet around you, and the only thing left on your mind is to have his lips on yours. Your voice is only a breath above a whisper, and you're afraid Matt might miss it entirely amongst the loud voices of others.
“Can I kiss you?’’
He releases a sharp exhale as if he has been waiting for you to utter those words all evening.
“Please.”
You lean in, carefully, slowly. His lips slightly part in an open invitation, and you meet in the middle. The touch is gentle, soft tissues overlap in slow, indulgent caresses. Simple, yet it invokes a craving in you. The need for him to be even closer, the yearning to find out the taste of him. Matt touches your jaw, and draws you in closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself go. Eager, perching on the territory of desperation as the pressure on your lips grows more insistently. You're entangled in an exhilarating chase, circling around each other like you simply can't resist the pull that's been there since the moment you sat down. Matt silently asks for entry at the seam of your lips, and you respond in kind. His tongue strokes yours and suddenly, there is a new kind of invisible vapour that you're breathing in. It's overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. You can taste the bitterness of the whisky that makes you wince on normal occasions, but on Matt's tongue, it's addictive and inexplicably irresistible. His air runs wild in your lungs, warming your body from the inside, awakening your nerves.
You break away at the sound of a teasing whistle clearly directed at you, reminding you of where you are. Matt’s face is flushed red, and you want to see how far down the colour goes under the suit and tie he's wearing. His hand is still on your jaw, gently caressing the line like he doesn't want to let go. And you don't want to let him go either.
“Can we go back to your place?”
The question rolls off your tongue, and he nods immediately, a little breathlessly. You stand up from your chairs at the same time. Matt reaches for his coat that is on the back of the chair. You shrug your own on and avert your gaze when Matt subtly adjusts his slacks. You put the bills down for your drinks, shutting Matt down when he objects to the idea. His hand find yours when you offer it to him, and you walk into the brisk air together.
The walk back didn't take too long. Matt held your hand the whole time, and the small gesture made your insides flutter. He lets you go when you reach his apartment. The unit number 6A has almost faded into the dark door. He unlocks the door and tells you where the light switch is. You turn it on, and place your coat in his awaiting palm. You follow him further into the apartment and take in the space.
“Who did you kill to get this place?”
Matt chuckles, discarding his tie with one hand.
“No killing involved. The neon sign out there is enough to chase people away.”
Your gaze falls on the giant, blinking advertisement outside the window.
“Nothing a few blackout curtains won't fix.”
He drapes the black tie on the back of the couch as you turn to the other side of the apartment.
“Do those stairs lead to the rooftop?”
“Yes, they do.”
You keep your back to him.
"Do you go up there often?"
"From time to time."
"This is … wow."
You're not sure why you're stalling. You pretend to look around as you try to brush off a nagging feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Just the nerves, you think. You're out of practice, that's all.
So you clear your throat and say.
“Is your bedroom behind that bigger sliding door?”
He nods. You feel a little out of place, so you gravitate towards him, a familiar presence in a strange space. Matt lets you come to him, giving you all the control. You lean in and attach your lips to his, allowing it to follow the natural progression as it did back at Josie's. Your legs tangle and stumble towards the bedroom, your lips never too far away from one another. You think you might hit the closed door, but before that can happen, Matt pulls you flush against his body with one hand and uses the other to slide the door open in one smooth, practiced move. You pull away when you need to catch your breath.
“May I …”
You touch the side of his glasses. After a quiet moment, he gives you permission to take them, and you do. Slowly, and with the utmost care you can manage, you set them on the bedside table. His eyes are closed when you straighten. You caress his cheek, feeling the way his features form together. Your touch is soothing, and you hope he can feel the patience you offer to him. There is no rush, no pressure. After a long moment, Matt opens his eyes, and you take them in. You can see how he tries to meet your eyes in his own way. The shade of hazel is shrouded by the low light and the occasional shutter of his eyelids.
“Your eyes are beautiful.”
You raise slightly on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, feeling his lashes fluttering softly. He waits for you to return to him, and seeks out your lips in a delicate manner.
You fall onto the bed together. Matt braces himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You pull his head down to yours, kissing and nibbling on the stretch of stubble along his jaw. His soft groans of approval encourage the other hand to travel downward, pulling on the white dress shirt. Once it's free from the slacks, you weave your hand inside and run your palm along the expanse of his torso. The dips and raises of his well-defined abs are warm under your palm, and the sensation stokes the molten liquid that's nestling deep inside you. You feel the feverish need edging over that part of you that you want to ignore.
The gradual pullback doesn't feel like a rejection at first, but merely an invitation to follow. So you do, your hands work to unbutton his shirt. But Matt slows you down to a stop, holding your hands to his lips and placing kisses on your palms. You blink, still snarled in the haze.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Confronted. The only word that can describe accurately how you're feeling.
“What makes you say that?”
“Your heart …”
His hand trails from your collarbone to your chest where your heart resides within in a way that feels strangely intimate and not at all invasive. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. It's pounding. You are more nervous about this than you thought.
“… is beating quite fast. Are you nervous?”
You're safe. It's an innate feeling, and while you can't explain it, you know lying to Matt serves no purpose here. He seems to have a way to read you without using his sight.
“Yes, a little bit. I haven’t done this before. Sleeping with a stranger, I mean.”
“I see. We don’t have to do this.”
You raise yourself on your elbows.
“No, I wanted to go back here, with you. I want this.”
“But it doesn’t mean you owe me anything. If you change your mind for whatever reason, I'm okay with that as well."
Matt presses a kiss to your forehead.
"We can always try this again at another time.”
Guilt claws at you, urging you to do anything to please him.
“I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong signal.”
“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”
He tries to find your hand, and you offer it to him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.
“I had a good time with a beautiful woman, then I got to kiss her, all in one night, and that's enough.”
You guffaw, throwing your head back at the blatant flirt.
“You don’t even know how I look like.”
“No, I don’t. But I have my own way to tell. You sound beautiful.”
An idea materializes in your mind, and you give in to it. You bring his hand to your face, trailing along the side of your face. He gets the hint and begins his own exploration of your features. The way he takes his time, following the slopes of your face, his touch gentle, ghosting over your skin. He stops at your lips and soothes his thumb over the kiss-swollen flesh. You sigh softly. He gives you one last kiss, his tenderness makes your heart soar.
“Would you like something comfortable to sleep in?”
“I'm fine with anything you have.”
Matt finds his closet and pulls out a grey sweatshirt. He tells you where the bathroom is, and you take the folded shirt with you. You clean yourself up with water before stripping down to your underwear. You put the soft material over your body. It smells like him, and soft, just like him. You come out of the washroom and see his bare back for a split second before he pulls the shirt down. He has changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his chest and biceps beautifully.
You stand by his bed, not sure where you can come in despite the two of you ruffling the sheets not even ten minutes ago. Matt chooses for you, settling on the space facing the window, leaving you the side which is closer to the sliding door. His sheets are silky soft, and you feel yourself sinking right into them. You turn to face Matt, touching his shoulder. He faces you fully, his eyes settling on a point on the lower part of your face.
“Thank you.”
You whisper.
“Thank me by staying for breakfast.”
“Why breakfast?”
“I can't send you off to your interview on an empty stomach, can I? It's the least I can do.”
A rueful smile graces your lips.
“I can’t wait.”
You fell asleep with ease. At one point during the night, you could feel Matt detach himself from you, and out of a vague desperation that you couldn't process, you held tighter onto him involuntarily. At that, he stopped moving, and you felt a soothing pattern trailing over your head, luring you back to sleep again. His warmth carried you through the few hours that you slept.
It's a little past 4 AM when you wake, and find Matt still sleeping peacefully. Torn, but you come to accept that leaving is for the best. You get out of bed gently, thankful that the wooden floor didn't make a noise. You take his sweatshirt off and fold it, putting it on top of the pillow that you slept on. After putting on the clothes from the night before, you leave with much regret in your heart.
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Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!
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mcnuggyy · 1 year ago
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phew so glad I cut my hair, I’ve been feeling so much better gender wise :o) <3
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darkmatilda · 12 days ago
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𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer needs your help examining a crucial piece of evidence...but the moment he sees you, his mind goes blah blah blah...proper name, place name, backstory stuff...
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist! female reader, same reader as in pick your poison but you don’t need to read that first—there aren’t any major references, suggestion that the reader engages in casual hook ups, reader has a belly button piercing and a described outfit, spencer's pov only
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2k
𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling it was slowly gathering dust in my inbox 😭 sorry!
"I think the threshold of my lab isn't exactly the best place for camping."
A woman's silhouette cast a shadow over Spencer as she appeared right above him in the dimly lit hallway.
Spencer sighed in frustration and hauled himself to his feet. As he brushed off his pants, he kept his eyes off the woman in front of him.
"Well, I didn't think you'd make me wait fifty-eight—"
"Oh, just say the hour. Is rounding numbers really that hard for you?" she scoffed, her voice carrying a trace of genuine curiosity. She swiped her access card, unlocking the door to the lab. With her back turned to him, he took in her appearance—an oversized fur coat draped over her shoulders, a designer handbag hanging from one arm. His gaze drifted downward, and to his surprise, he noticed…pajama pants and slippers?
"You should be grateful I even bothered to show up at this hour," she added.
"This is really important," Spencer replied as she led him inside.
She moved through the space with effortless familiarity, heading straight for the light switch. Well, this was her domain, after all—the place where she spent most of her days.
"I don't care," she replied. "Unless you've found proof that Marilyn Monroe was the Zodiac Killer all along—then, well, I care a little. Honestly, you have no idea how much you owe me for showing up..."
He rolled his eyes.
"Should I be thanking you on my knees, or...?"
"I could have been busy. I could have been out with the girls at a club. I could have been having the night of my life..."
"I get it, you made a huge sacrifice answering my request, but can you now—"
"I could have been in bed already. My own. Or not my own," she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Though in that case, I wouldn’t have picked up."
Spencer simply sighed. By now, he was used to it—the way most of their conversations followed the same pattern. How she always set the pace, steering the direction as she pleased. How she sometimes deliberately ignored his words and didn’t care if it made her seem rude. How, in general, she didn’t care what impression she left on others.
He had witnessed it countless times, found it irritating every single time, and yet—every single time—he kept the conversation going. Funny.
She switched on only one of the lights, leaving the room bathed in a soft twilight. Her handbag landed on the long counter beside one of the microscopes, and she tossed her fur coat next to it, completely unconcerned about knocking something over.
Sometimes, he watched her with quiet fascination—the effortless confidence in her movements—and wondered if she had ever, even once, smacked her hip against a doorframe. Or stubbed her toe on a cabinet. Those small, mundane humiliations and everyday mishaps simply didn’t seem to fit with who she was.
He tightened his grip on the plastic bag he had brought with him, the one containing something that needed to be examined. The team didn’t know about it yet.
The thought, the theory, had quite literally yanked him out of sleep. He couldn’t function without checking this lead immediately. But he knew that if he went through the lab, he’d have to wait until morning for the results…so he decided to ask for a friendly favor.
Okay friendly was a big word.
They had known each other for a few months, worked together on several cases, gone on a date, slept together.
Not necessarily in that order.
He was just about to open his mouth, say something, hand her the bag… when, for the first time, he actually saw her in better light than the dim glow—or rather, lack of it—in the hallway. Against his own will, his gaze started its journey over her.
From the slippers on her feet, up the loose pajama pants that ended just below the piercing in her navel, the black camisole with thin straps, to her face—completely free of makeup.
Until now, he had only seen her in two versions. One was her usual, elegant work attire. The other was her evening look—form-fitting, designed to turn heads and keep them there.
On second thought, there was also a third version. Without clothes.
But he had never seen her like this. Casual, comfortable, dressed for nothing more than wandering the walls of her own apartment.
She lifted her arms to tie her hair into a ponytail, and her shirt rode up slightly.
“If my piercing fascinates you that much, I can give you my piercer’s number,” she offered dryly, a fleeting smirk on her lips as she caught his stare. He immediately snapped his gaze back to her face, cursing internally when he realized he probably looked like he had been caught staring. Which, of course, he hadn’t been. “Excellent work. Full professionalism. Experienced hands…”
"I need you to check this stain," he interrupted, raising the bag.
They had been talking too much, and he really needed to know if his suspicions were correct.
She stepped closer to take the bag from him.
“Is this a crucial piece of evidence, or can I touch it?”
“You can touch it…”
She stopped just a step away, shifting her weight onto one hip and tilting her head to get a better look.Spencer instinctively straightened, feeling a strange tension along his spine.Earlier, he had been looking at what she was wearing. Now, what caught his attention was how she looked.
There’s a certain kind of beauty you never quite get used to, no matter how often you see it. The kind that, every time, knocks the air from your lungs for just a second—that fleeting disbelief that someone like this actually walks the earth.
She had it. She radiated it.
And she was just a step away.
She took the garment out of the bag. It was a red turtleneck sweater. She lifted it higher toward the light, furrowing her brow as she examined the stain.
Spencer’s gaze fell on her beautiful face, her eyes shimmering slightly, her lower lip slightly pursed in thought.
Suddenly, she scoffed, snapping him back to reality.
"Mystery solved, and I didn’t even need a microscope," she said, shoving the sweater back into his hands. As he took it, his fingers brushed against hers, catching him slightly off guard. "It’s foundation. I’d recognize that stain anywhere. So, hooray, happy to help, no need to put me in the case report, have a good night, and see you—"
He grabbed her wrist before she could step away, stopping her in place.
"This isn’t a joke," he said, his voice dropping, tinged with sudden irritation.She raised an eyebrow at both his tone and the way he—unintentionally—closed the distance between them. As usual, she looked him straight in the eyes, and as usual, it was hard not to be drawn in. But he tried, because this case was really consuming his thoughts. "Listen, I called you because I need someone to actually test it. Not just glance at it. It'll only take a moment, and then you can go back to crawling into bed with whoever you want. Can you do that?"
The second-to-last sentence made her expression shift slightly.
For a moment, they stood there, unwavering, eyes locked without so much as a blink. Then, the corners of her lips tugged upward—just barely. But it felt more like a forced gesture, an attempt to maintain her carefully practiced expression, rather than a sign of genuine amusement.
"Alright," she replied softly. Not to be mistaken for shyly. There was nothing shy about her, a fact he was reminded of constantly.
"I’ll test it, since it matters so much to you. And then I’m going back to bed." A slow blink before she yanked the sweater from his hands. "With whoever I want."
Why did swallowing suddenly stop being an automatic reflex and turn into something he had to consciously work through?
"That’s great," he said shortly, dryly. He could feel himself slipping into the trap again, letting her toy with him. "Have fun."
"I will."
With that simple assurance, she walked away, and the very particles of air around him seemed to loosen, finally allowing him to breathe again. He turned after her instinctively, the way a swivel chair spins when someone sets it in motion.
She crossed the lab table and leaned over an empty workstation—empty, like all the others. The entire width of the counter separated them now, along with the return of cool detachment to her face. Slowly, Spencer rested his hands on the smooth surface, watching as she got to work. Watching as her hair bounced slightly with the shift in position. Watching as her jaw tensed in concentration. Watching as she leaned over the workstation slightly.
"So," she began flatly, not pausing her work or even looking at him.
Spencer gave his head a small shake, realizing that this time, he really had been staring. At least she hadn’t seen it.
"What exactly am I testing?"
His gaze drifted to her again.
"Something related to the case."
"Wow, I never would've guessed."
He was too distracted to mentally slap himself for how pathetic he was. 
"Uh, it’s not exactly groundbreaking," he began.
He could focus—he just had to try hard enough. He just had to clear the lingering trace of her scent from when she’d stood so close. Had to shake off the echo of her words. With whoever I want, she had said. The more he thought about it, the more accurate it seemed. He firmly believed she could have whoever she wanted. With that confidence. With that face. With that body…
"That’s why I’m checking it after hours. Just, you know…backstory stuff…"
A sound escaped her lips—somewhere between a scoff of disbelief and a startled laugh. She looked at him—no, she pinned him with her gaze.
"Backstory stuff?" she repeated, her lips curling into a smile. Not even a mocking one anymore. She was genuinely amused. "Did you, Doctor Spencer Reid, when asked what the evidence pertains to, actually respond with backstory stuff…?"
“No, I…I mean…”
“Oh God, it’s a good thing they don’t put you in front of cameras. Imagine you, at a press conference. Just casually dropping backstory stuff on national television…”
“I can handle myself in front of cameras,” he clarified, feeling an odd warmth creep up the back of his neck. “But there aren’t any here. And besides, I didn’t realize you wanted me to recite the entire case file from memory…”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said with another amused snort. “Backstory stuff is actually a surprisingly accurate term. You know, very professional.”
He rolled his eyes, feigning irritation, though what he really felt was more akin to embarrassment.
“Speaking of professionalism, maybe you could get back to work?” he suggested.
“I don’t have to,” she replied, flashing him a sweet smile. “I already checked everything. And I was wrong. It’s not foundation—it’s nitroglycerin.”
Spencer’s jaw practically hit the floor.
For the first time since stepping into the lab, his mind was running at full capacity.
"Nitroglycerin? Are you sure?"
"Well, I don’t get these things wrong," she said, almost offended.
"Nitroglycerin," he repeated in a whisper.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Suddenly, everything made sense.
She leaned her elbows on the table, watching him with interest.
He wanted to kiss her.
No—he did not—
"Thank you," he blurted out, her words becoming background noise as his thoughts raced. "Thank you for coming. This…this really helps. I have to tell the team—"
He turned toward the door, dazed by the realization.
Something stopped him.
"Spencer," she called gently.
She didn’t seem angry that he was leaving so abruptly. If anything, there was a certain soft glint in her eyes, a quiet fascination with his sudden revelation. Standing in the doorway, he looked at her one last time, feeling himself freeze in place again. He said nothing, sensing that she wanted to say something instead.
She tilted her head slightly.
"You owe me a favor," she said.
There was something about the way she said it—something that sent a slow, deliberate shiver down his spine. Not even a shiver. More like a careful march of cold fingertips down his vertebrae.
So, naturally, he did what any grown man with an IQ of 187 would do.
He parted his lips slightly and nodded.
1K notes · View notes
rukkiya · 2 months ago
Text
didn’t mean a thing
˚✧ ゚neuvillette x reader, wriothesley x reader (separate) ˚✧ ゚
(they say something mean to reader when reader tries to surprise them)
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
neuvillette
The chief of justice often feels the pressure of his role. Lately the cases have been weighing heavy on him, more so than usual.
The amount of unattended cases and trials to come up only makes the judge more anxious, more stressed, and worst of all more irritable.
He hasn’t been taking care of himself, often prioritizing his job over his health and it breaks your heart. You’ve caught him taking naps in his office when you’d stop by to visit so you thought of making him something to help him during his times when he sleeps.
You're a local seamstress, but you have a good hand for crocheting as well. You often make small crochet plushies for the orphans and melusines so you thought a small pillow would work wonders for nevi when he takes naps in his office.
The iudex is sat at his desk reading over one of the many cases piled up next to him. His migraine forms as he sighs, taking a sip of cool water in hopes to somewhat ease it.
He hears a soft knock at his door and ignores it at first. The people he works with know not to bother the chief when he has this much work to do. but the knock is heard again making him sigh, putting the documents down.
“Come in.” He calls out, seeing your head peek in, a soft smile already playing on your lips.
“Hello love!” you beam, you love visiting your husband at work. You don’t get to see him home too often, you take any chance you get to drop by.
“Hello,” he greets back, mouth forming a straight line. “Is something the matter?” He asks, wasting no time.
“No, I just wanted to drop off something for you.” You smile, feeling how off he was right away. He must be so drained you think, trying to dismiss the uninterested tone in his voice.
You pull a small bag from behind your back and walk up to him, holding it out for him to grab.
His face remains neutral and you feel small under his gaze, regretting interrupting his work.
It’s strange though, he usually always welcomes you with a warm smile, ushering you in to spend time with him. Today was different.
He begrudgingly moves his chair back and eyes the bag.
What’s so important that you have to interrupt his work?
He grabs the bag from you and you pull your hand back as he peeks in, moving the wrapping paper aside.
His hand comes up to the bridge of his nose when he sees a small pillow with blue and white lace trimming at the edges in the bag.
He doesn't know what he expected and he doesn’t understand why he feels so bothered but he can’t help it.
“Is this all?” He asks, putting the wrapping paper back on top, handing you the bag back like it was something that made him upset.
“I made it for you. You often take breaks and sleep in your office so I thought-“
“That’s the problem you know.” He cuts you off before you can finish, making you step back a bit.
“You think, what you do will make things better for people or you know what people need.” He brushes off the small gift like nothing.
“I just wanted you to get proper rest, you look tired. I know you haven’t been getting much sleep because of all the cases and-“
“And you’re the one stopping me from finishing them right now, right? I don’t need you always checking up or stopping by when you feel like it. Some of us take our jobs seriously. It’s suffocating having you stop by everyday. I need space and time to do my own job alone. Thank you very much.” He’s almost out of breath by the end of it, his eyes narrow at you, you feel what the verdicts of the cases feel when he judges them.
You don’t know what to say. You feel small under his gaze and he doesn’t even flinch, after all he’s said he stands his ground.
“Forgive me for worrying in the slightest, it won’t happen again.” Your voice falls flat, you dig your nails in your palm to stop the sting in your eyes as you turn to leave.
Reaching the door you half expect him to stop you, apologize or something but it never happens. You step outside and feel your tears drop, lowering your head from gazes around you.
You head to your home with a heavy heart. You feel utterly stupid. You should’ve seen the signs, you knew he was on edge because of work and you walked right into it like a spider's web.
You reach your house feeling drained. You slowly make your way to your room to continue working on small plushies for the orphans to take your mind off the harsh words you hear earlier. Throwing the small pillow you made into the trash before you get to work. He doesn’t want it and neither do you.
Neuvillette lets out a content sigh. He’s done his work, more than half of the cases he’s reviewed and he feels better. Enough to call it a day and head home somewhat earlier than normal. Maybe he can catch a meal with you, something he hasn’t done in ages.
He opens the door to your shared home and takes note of how quiet it is. Is it usually this quiet when you’re alone?
The living room was dim, the only source of light was flooding the from the cracks of your shared bedroom.
He hangs his coat and makes his way to your shared bedroom. He wants nothing more than to spend time with you.
You hear your bedroom door creak but don’t bother to turn around, already knowing who it was. You made a promise to yourself to stop being overbearing with him, he told you it’s suffocating, you never want him to feel that way with you.
He feels his lips tug upwards a bit at the sight of you. You were stitching some plushies, your work always so beautiful and delicate.
“Hello my love.” He speaks softly, he knows he acted out of place earlier but he wants to make it up to you. He knows you only care, that just the kind of sweet genuine person you are.
“Hello.” You welcome him barely above whisper, not looking up at him. You lay in bed crocheting a small plushie.
“Are you going to drop those off at the orphanage tomorrow?” He asks, heart filling with utter adoration at the sight of you making your beautiful plushies.
“Yes.” You answer, nodding your head as you cut the end of the yarn off.
“Would you like me to assist you?” He asks, you feel like it’s a trick question. After all he has told you today he asks this?
“No need. You have work, I can go with Navia.” You decline, he stands there for a second before clearing his throat.
“Why of course, please send my regards when you stop by.” He asks and you nod.
What’s wrong? You’ve never declined his offers of helping you. Were you not feeling well?
“I’m going to wash up dear, afterwards I’ll make us something to eat.” His voice is much softer than earlier. You don’t understand what he wants anymore. It’s confusing.
While Neuvillette was showering you warmed up his portion of the dinner you made, setting it up on his bedside table. You were hurt by his words but you still want him to eat.
After preparing his meal on his bedside table, you grab your pillow and an extra blanket heading to the living room couch. As much as his words hurt you, you still want to hold him, talk to him and have him close but he doesn’t want that. He made it more than clear in his office.
After Neuvillette’s shower, he’s greeted with a meal on his nightstand. He looks around the room and notices you're not in bed anymore. He catches sight of your plushie on your nightstand and thinks you went to use the other restroom.
He gets changed and smiles at the meal you made for him. Always helping him when he knows you work just as hard as he does, if not even harder than he does. You’re passionate about your work and he adores that side of you.
He buttons up his shirt and sits in bed, looking at the clock. It's been over 15 minutes since he’s gotten out. Why weren't you back in bed?
He stands and walks over to your side of the bed where the plushie lays on the nightstand. From the corner of his eye a blue and white lace trimming catches his attention and he looks down at the small bin next to your side of the bed.
He reaches in and pulls out the small pillow you had brought to his office earlier that day, he feels his heart sink. Remembering his harsh words and how he gave it back to you without a second thought. He feels guilty.
You threw this beautiful pillow away because of his foolish outburst. He feels like a fool for talking to you in such a way. Your guarded attitude made more sense now that he realizes it.
He clutches the small pillow in his hold and looks to your side of the bed, noticing your pillow missing.
His legs move on their own, opening your room door greeted with the dark living room only a candle being your source of light.
He can see you laying on the couch and he feels his eyes burn.
As he nears you he hears you crying and his heart tugs at the sound.
He wouldn’t dare let you sleep alone, ever.
He says nothing as he turns to you and you quickly turn away to hide your tears.
He kneels down a bit. Arms circling under your legs and head, picking you up with ease as he grabs your pillow before making his way back to your room.
You feel more tears spill. What was all this? What does he want?
He stops in the room after closing the door behind him. The only sound to be hard was your sniffling before you heard rain, rain droplets hitting your window.
He holds you closer, tighter in his hold.
“My love, I’m terribly sorry for my words that have caused you to feel the need to distance yourself. I’m sorry I disregarded your gift for me. I will cherish it forever.” He whispers, his legs moving once again making his way to your side of the bed.
He softly lays you down before standing again, you see the pillow you thee away on your nightstand and feel more tears spill.
He turns, he knows he should give you space, give you time alone and as much as he wants to hold you he has to respect your boundaries.
Before he can get too far he feels a hug in his wrist, he feels his own tears spill.
Your heart, which is too kind and forgiving, knows him too well. He truly doesn’t deserve you.
“Please don’t leave.” You whisper, he only nods, who’s he to say no? After all he’s done today he’d be a fool.
He climbs into bed, arms immediately grabbing you, laying you on top of him as the rain outside gets louder.
“My love, I apologize for my actions. Please find it in your heart to forgive a fool like me, not right now but when you can.” He can only whisper, if he speaks any louder he’s scared he’ll cry more.
You nod your head as it lays on his chest “yes my love, I do.” you hug him, if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be here right now you tell yourself. The fact that he’s here right now shows so much.
You hear his heartbeat steady and the rain outside subside. Knowing he’s calmed down, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Neuvillette holds you closer, making a promise to himself and you to never act out of place like that again. Not with you, who’s so caring and giving he’ll cherish you forever along with the pillow you made for him today.
wriothesley
The duke is in charge of many things, running the fortress of meropide is one. Dealing with troublesome inmates to make sure they know their place and meetings that consist of various things for him to arrange.
Wriothesley was making his way back from a meeting with Neuvillette. He has asked him about an inmate, asking him to bring him up for further questioning, giving him the inmates name and number before he left.
Neuvillette had given him a small paper with the number and name. Wriothesly had memorized it just after a few glances at the small paper. But during his busy day out he has misplaced it. And as the day went on he was worried he’d forget.
He didn’t want to trouble Neuvillette with another meeting to give him the number again so he’s been repeating it while making his way to his office.
You decided to bring Wrio some food and tea. Upon arriving at his office you found it empty and decided to surprise him for when he comes back. Sitting on the small couch by his desk, setting up his meal for when he comes.
You often have one or two days out of the month where you catch up and eat lunch together in his office. It's one of the ways that you get to see him more besides when he comes home to sleep.
No one dared to stop the duke as he made his way to his office, the look on his face alone was screaming don’t approach me right now.
You hear his office door open and hear his footsteps echoing up the staircase, you stand up and wait by the edge of the stairs happy to see him.
He doesn’t even look your way when he reaches the top, instead he brushes past you. Mumbling some numbers under his breath.
“Wrio.” You call out softly, making him whip his head back. He didn’t even notice you were here, let alone see you standing right by him.
“What’re you doing here?” He asks, it comes out harsher than he intends.
“I brought you food! We haven’t had lunch in a while, I made your favorite too. It’s been sometime since we’ve sat down and had a home cooked meal.” You beam, smiling at him and pointing to his desk behind him where you set up the food.
“That’s great, but right now isn’t the time.” He brushes you off. Walking to the cabinet where all the inmates' files are repeating the number in his head still.
“I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but you tend to look over your health because of work. This can help you focus on your work more! I even brought your favorite tea to go with it.” You walk to his desk and pour the hot tea into his favorite cup.
“Just take a second and eat, take care of yourself and-“
“Do you ever stop?” He feels his grip on the cabinet tighten as he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.
You stop talking and look over at him.
“I’m sorr-“
“I have an office to do my work, for peace and quiet as I do so. No one has the right to waltz in here and think they can have a tea party and talk their heads off while I work.” He slowly turns to you.
You only swallow, not knowing how to respond.
“You know I have more important things to do than have a meal with you. You talk so much, too much sometimes and you don’t know when to stop and it’s bothersome. Learn how to stop at times and not bother people when they’re working, yeah?” He scolds, roughly shoving the cabinet closed.
You look down at the desk, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.
You feel like you’re glued to the floor. You can’t move.
“I’d like to get back to work, I don’t have time for all this. I’d be best if you went back to work as well.” He sits at his desk with a file and you feel your eyes sting.
Leaving the food on his desk and grabbing your bag. Walking downstairs and away from his office that felt suffocating, you should’ve just minded your business.
You walk out of his office, closing the door softly as his words ring in your head.
Seigwinne sees you, walking up but stopping In his tracks when she sees your solemn expression. She’s studied humans enough to know that the emotion you were feeling was sadness.
You make your way home, stepping inside and locking the door as you feel the first tear run down your face.
You know how much you talk, you know many people don’t like it but Wriothesley never said anything about it. He’s always listened to you, saying it helps him relax. During work he’s often doing the talking so hearing you talk, it brings him peace. He also loves your voice.
When did he start getting annoyed? Has it been a while? What if he’s been tired of hearing me this whole time? You question yourself. Coming to the conclusion that you need to stop. Stop talking so much and taking up his time. It’s for the better.
When Wriothesley ends the meeting with the inmate he finally feels some tension release from his shoulders. He’s been running around all day and he hasn’t had time to sit in peace.
From the time on the clock he sees it reaching seven pm and decides to call it a day. He’s done the most important task already. He can attend other matters tomorrow.
As he cleans up his desk he notices the food and tea, remembering you stopped by earlier to chat with him. Remembering what a jerk he was and how he told you to leave.
He sighs when he notices what you made. You have a habit of putting others' priorities before yours and he feels bad for how he responded. He packs up the food to take it back home, to reheat and eat with you like you wanted.
When he arrives home, he notices how quiet it was inside. He pushes the door open and is met with a small lamp in the kitchen and spots you sitting on the couch, book in hand.
“I’m home darling.” He calls out, seeing you turn to him, giving him a small smile then turning back to your book.
His eyebrows draw together, he loves coming home and seeing you. Always so excited and giddy asking him about his day and telling him about yours but you didn’t even respond to him.
“I brought the food you made back home, I wanted to reheat it and eat with you. We haven’t spent time with each other in a while.” He speaks up, pulling his tie down a-bit as he still sees you reading your book.
Why weren’t you responding? He thinks, you’re never this quiet.
“Have you eaten?” He pushes, trying to get something out of you, anything.
“Not hungry.” You answer, simple and quick. Not even looking away from your book this time.
He feels nervous. He feels something off.
“I’ll heat it up, if you want some please eat.” He sighs, the tension is heavy but nothing happens. He knows something’s off with you.
In silence the duke eats alone on the table, sending you glances as you continue to turn the pages of your book. Not indulging him in your ranting he’s come to grow ‘annoyed of’. He made it clear earlier.
“The food is delicious, thank you for making this.” He tires again, this time you look up. He smiles a bit but you do something that makes him believe something is off, you only send him a thumbs up in return.
He finishes his half and saves you yours for when you get hungry, putting it away and making his way to you.
“Y/n darling. Is something the matter?” He asks, making his way closer to you. Seeing you shift uncomfortably from where you sit.
“Nope.” You shake your head, not daring to look at him. You can feel him coming closer.
He kneels down, inspecting you. The corners of your eyes were a bit red, but nothing else seemed off. Were you feeling sick?
His hand reaches up to feel your forehead but you move away.
“I’m not sick.” You speak up as you dodge his touch. He feels his hand freeze.
“Use your words, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking to me?” He asks, placing hands next to both sides of your legs caging you in.
“I’m not one of your inmates, don’t order me to do things.” You speak up, still not daring to look up at him, you can feel his piercing eyes on you.
He’s taken aback at your response.
“I’m not ordering you y/n, I’m just worried.” He sighs, pulling your book down to get you to look at him.
“I said I’m fine, can I get back to reading?” You glance up at him. Trying your best to not let anything slip though. You don’t want him to see how much his words hurt you.
He decides to stop, for now. He knows something’s wrong. You’re too stubborn to tell him though.
He walks into your shared bedroom and into the bathroom to shower, racking his brain to think of what possibly could have made you so upset. The whole time he spends in there he can’t think of why you’re refusing to respond properly.
It’s already later when he gets out, the steam from the bathroom becoming visible when he opens the door.
He sees you in bed and he can help but feel at ease. You came to bed at least. He walks over to the closet eyes you as he does, a small smile making its way onto his lips at the sight of how you look.
He starts changing and notices you’re faced away from him. He quietly steps around and sees you hugging a pillow and he feels this heavy feeling in his chest again.
Did he do something?
He lays down next to you, you feel the bed dip and try your hardest to not turn around. You’d probably hug him and start talking and annoy him again. He probably doesn't want that.
You feel like such a fool. All day his words have been affecting you. You’re too scared to speak again.
You hug the pillow closer to you and feel your eyes burn once again. Hearing those words from him hurt more than anything. You don’t want to show him how much it hurts you though. He doesn’t need to know. He said what he said and what’s done is done.
He lays there for a bit, the tension still surrounding you. He’s unsure of what to do. He wants to hold you, pull you in but what if you move again.
That’s when he hears it, the small sound of sniffing. He freezes. His heart drops making him stand.
You feel the bed move and hear him stand, you think the worst. Maybe he’s leaving because he’s annoyed. He doesn’t want to deal with this. You don’t know why you’re crying but it won’t stop. He just told you something that bothered him and you took it too personally. You’re both hurt and upset and you don’t understand why.
It’s quiet for a few seconds but then you feel a firm hand gently grab your arm, lifting you off the bed effortlessly.
You try to hide your face but Wriothesley has had enough of this.
“Hey hey, look at me.” He softly calls out.
You try to hold it in but you feel more tears run down. Placing your hands on his chest and pushing him away but his sturdy frame doesn’t budge.
“I’m fine, j-just tired.” You try to sound convincing despite your voice cracking. Struggling against his hold, pushing him a bit harder to move.
You resist in his hold and he feels his heart break even more.
“Y/n what’s wrong?” He grabs your hands, stopping your struggle and you look down, not wanting to look at him.
“Nothing, I’ve talked enough today. I don’t want to anymore.” You try to sound convincing, trying to pull your arms out of his grasp.
He’s taken aback, talked too much? You haven’t even talked at all. Where is this even coming from- oh.
oh
He stills, eyes boring into your head as you avoid his gaze.
“I didn’t mean it earlier y/n. I didn’t mean anything I said earlier. It doesn’t excuse if I was mad or busy telling you that wasn't something I ever meant. I love hearing you talk. I love your voice. Don’t ever think that I want you to stop.” He explains, knowing he was the reason for it all now. What a jerk he’s been.
He drops his head, resting it on yours. He waits a bit seeing if you’d pull away but you don’t. “Darling, I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart I am. I miss hearing you talk. The house is eerily quieter without your beautiful voice and laughter echoing through these halls.” He speaks softly, hearing a small sob escape your lips.
You move back a bit, looking up at him and taking a breath. “But you told me- I don’t want to annoy you.” You hiccup, finally letting more tears fall. It’s been eating you alive. It hurts. It hurts so bad because someone you love told you.
“No no, you’d never, and you never ever had. Do you understand?” He makes it clear, seeing your pretty eyes filled with tears he grabs your face.
Your behavior makes sense now, how could he have been so mean to you? He truly is such a fool.
His hands slowly lift to your face, testing the waters to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t pull back. “Please talk to me. Don’t hold back or hide your voice dear. Scold me, tell me what I did wrong.” He pleads, the look in his eyes desperate.
You nod, wiping your tears when he brings your head to his chest hugging you close. “Please forgive me.” He repeats, squeezing you tighter when you let out a small ‘yes’.
He holds you close, and though you said you forgive him. He can’t take you for granted, not when you’re the best thing to ever come into his dull life. So he repeats it over and over, until you both fall asleep.
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authors note: hello my lovelies HIIIIII!!! (/^▽^)/ it’s been a while but I come with a gift ANGST!! hehe neuvi and Wrio are such sweet men this was kind of a rough one but them with them seems so AMAZING! I hope you all had a lovely holiday and you’re all taking care! Hope I enjoy yet another angst with comfort! take care loves, bagel miss u all mwahhh <33 ^~^! (DISCLAIMER!! this was not edited or looked over, apologies for any misspelled words or incorrect grammar!!)
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postracehair · 3 months ago
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chicane
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max verstappen x reader | 1.6k
you tell max you love him for the first time. accidentally.
cw: r is drunk but happy, max is charming and tipsy, being silly and in love, love confessions
a/n: this came to me while i was taking a drunk shower.
--
You're drunk and tonight was perfect.
The late-night lights of the city rush by as you get closer and closer to your hotel, the cab driver content to turn the radio up a little more as you ramble in the back seat.
"It's just so nice that they all wanted to celebrate you," you say. "And for that one guy to buy us all drinks 'cause he's a fan! Oh, look, Max, that one is so pretty."
Max dutifully agrees and gently keeps you from pressing your nose to the glass with an arm around your shoulders. He's less drunk than you are, though he probably had just as many drinks. After his remarkable win today you're glad he let loose. He deserves it. You think he deserves everything, but a night out with the team and his friends and some free drinks is a good start.
And, god, he looks so good like this. Cheeks flushed, hair a little sweaty and tousled from his hands and yours, shirt open a button or two lower than his usual. You abandon the window and look at him instead, watching lights you were so focused on color his face and make his eyes shine.
You're so proud of him.
He laughs. "Thank you, liefje." Oh, did you say that out loud? The hand not twisted in the strap of your top squeezes your knee. He keeps his eyes on your face, mouth curled into a soft half-smile like he can't help but be fond of you.
The cab driver says you're just about there and Max pulls away from you to hand him some cash and a thought hits you full-force, louder in your head than the rush of his car across the finish line earlier today.
You love him.
Did you say that out loud, too? No, no. He gives no indication of having heard you so you don't think so. But the realization fills you with awe, with lightness, with joy. You laugh to yourself and Max shoots you an amused glance. You'll tell him, probably. At some point. But for now it's like the best kind of secret, new and exciting.
Max slides out of the cab first and holds a hand out for you. Beaming at him, you take it and don't let go as he tugs you up through the hotel doors and across the lobby to the elevators.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
It's like a song in your mind that syncs with the beat of your heart. You probably have for months, now. Maybe even as soon as you met him. How could you not? He's so good to you. Kind, patient, gentle. Funny, generous, intuitive. Quick to own up to his mistakes, willing to apologize when he's in the wrong. He's taught you so much about communication and healthy boundaries, about hard work and discipline.
Max says your name, pulling out of your lovesick musings. "Do I have something on my face?" he asks you, wearing his signature amused smirk and raised brow. You've been staring at him. The elevator arrives and you pull him into it, hitting your floor number and then the close button as quick as you can.
"No," you say, cheerily. "You're just handsome."
He rolls his eyes but welcomes you into his space, steadying you with a hand on your hips as you press your lips to his in the solitude of the elevator. It's a near miss -- you manage to catch the corner of his mouth, but Max redirects you easily for a proper kiss, slotting your lips together perhaps a little sloppily but it's exactly what you wanted.
A robotic voice announces your floor and Max pulls away first, pressing one more chaste kiss to your mouth before threading your fingers together and leading you down the hall to your room.
"Did you have fun tonight?" you ask him. He waves his room key in front of the pad and it lights up green.
"I did," he says, holding the door open for you to sneak under his arm. "Did you?"
You kick off your shoes and look around your shared room. Clothes draped on chairs, your suitcases lined up next to each other on the luggage racks. Max's laptop and meeting notes on the desk, the book you bought at the airport. It makes that feeling in your chest swell even more. You want to share space with him for the rest of your life.
"Yeah," you say. "I always have fun with you, Max."
He snorts at your enthusiasm but allows it, toeing off his sneakers and sitting heavily on the bed. You stand between his knees automatically and card both hands through his hair. He leans back on his palms and closes his eyes, chin tipped up. You could do this for hours, probably. It's always worth seeing him relax, let his walls down. Even when you're out with everyone on a night like tonight, blissfully loose and celebrating, you know he's not quite who he is when it's just the two of you. It's Max's nature to have these masks. They protect him.
But you protect him, too. You let him be himself.
"Are you hungry?" he finally asks, words slurring just the smallest bit. Probably from your fingers on his scalp more than the alcohol, really. "Want me to order some room service?"
It's the best idea you've ever heard and you tell him so. "Fries, maybe?" you suggest. "Oh, and a Diet Coke. For sure. And ice cream!"
"Okay, okay," he laughs, sitting up again and grabbing your wrists so he can kiss both of your palms. "Go shower and I'll call down."
"Shower!" you gasp, your drunkenness making your enthusiasm impossible to contain. "Such a good idea. You're so smart, Max."
He laughs, a bright, boyish sound. You would bottle it up if you could.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
This time it slips out.
"I love you," you say, beaming, without a second thought. "Wow, I can't wait to eat some fries."
You're so excited about this turn of events that you don't register his reaction, don't realize what you've confessed. You just head for the bathroom, grabbing your sleep clothes on the way and humming to yourself.
It's not until you're rinsing the fancy hotel body wash from your skin that you hear your own words in your ears.
You told Max you love him.
The water is warm but you shiver. "Oh god," you whisper to yourself.
Obviously you meant it. That's not the problem. It's just not really how you wanted to say it -- drunk after a night out celebrating his race win, thanking him for ordering you some 1am room service. Max deserves romance. You should have waited for a dinner date, or a night at his place this week, whispered it while you're both wrapped up in his sheets.
But now he knows. And does he feel the same?
You turn off the spray and wrap yourself in one of the huge, fluffy bath towels. He probably does, right? He certainly shows it. Even if he doesn't want to say it just yet you can feel it. In the way he looks at you, the way he looks after you. In his touches, the innocent ones and the not-so-innocent ones, in his gaze and the way he says your name like it's something precious.
He loves you. You're sure of it. You just feel a little silly about the whole thing.
You dry off and slip into your comfies. When you open the bathroom door you find Max tugging off his shirt, clearly planning to hop in the shower, too.
"Food should be here any minute," he says. "They had a few kinds of ice cream, so I got them all."
He turns to you and smiles so wide you feel your cheeks heat. He just looks so happy.
"I was going to tease you a bit," he says fondly, crossing the room to stand in front of you. "About what you said before you went into the shower. But right now you just look so --"
"What, Max?" you ask, pouting a little. He's teasing you plenty, in your opinion.
"Cute," he finishes. "Liefje, you look like a raccoon."
You must look confused because he scrunches his nose at you and cups your face, thumbs swiping at the skin under your eyes. He shows you them, black mascara flecks dotting the pads of them.
"Oh," you say. "Whoops."
"I love you," Max says. "I should have led with that."
Your hands rest on his bare chest of their own accord, feeling the solid warmth of him you know so well. His heart beats steadily under your palm. As sure as his feelings for you.
"Really?" you breathe. You can't help it. Even though you believe him, even though it's not really a surprise, a reflexive sense of doubt swells in your throat. Can life really be this good? Can you have someone who loves you, someone who takes care of you, someone as good and kind as Max?
His brows furrow for just a second before he clearly surmises that you're just drunk and starry-eyed.
"Really," he echoes. He kisses you just once, soft and sure. "I'm going to shower. Leave some fries for me?"
You nod dutifully. "Obviously," you say. "You get some of my fries because I love you."
There's that laugh again -- unguarded, transforming his whole face.
"I'm a lucky guy," he says.
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woso-dreamzzz · 2 months ago
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Flirts: Christmas
Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Reader
Summary: Christmas in the Flirts Universe
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"Hey, you," Mapi says," You're home early. I thought you were going to go see Patri."
You just stick your thumb up at her from your position face down on the sofa.
"Come on," Mapi laughs," Up you get. I want a cuddle."
You roll over, lifting your legs briefly to invite Mapi into the space.
"Not even a proper cuddle?" She jokes," Is that what I'm worth to you? Your legs?"
You groan dramatically as she pulls you up, arms wrapping around your body until her head is pillowed on your chest and your fingers are gently carding through her hair.
You don't want to admit it out loud but you need this hug too.
"When's Ingrid home?"
"She's still at that photoshoot," Mapi complains," Sometimes, I wish she wasn't so pretty so she's at home more with us. I don't need photographers trying to steal our girlfriend."
"Funny," You say," I'm sure she thinks the same about the girls that try to chat you up at the bar."
Mapi winks. "And those first time pet owners who just fall at your feet during check ups."
You roll your eyes in mirth. "Well, after the attack you two did to my neck last week, I'm sure all competition has been scared off."
Mapi grins, eyes narrowed as she stares at your neck. The hickeys have all faded now but she can still imagine exactly where they went on your skin - one of her and Ingrid's greatest artworks.
"Are you sure?" Mapi's fingers brush your thigh. "I mean, how can we be sure? Competition can come back."
You give her a look, brows raised pointedly as she nibbles at your neck. "I can't go back into work with my neck uncovered. I'll have to cover it with a scarf."
"it's winter. You should be wearing a scarf anyway. This just gives you a good excuse!"
She pushes you flat on your back, straddling your hips as her mouth reattaches to the sensitive skin on your neck.
That's how Ingrid finds you, thought with less clothing, as she steps through the door.
"You two can't wait for me?" She teases as she hangs up her coat and takes off her boots. "Having all the fun without me?"
Mapi barely pulls away from you, still close enough to feel her breath on your lips, as she responds," You know you're always welcome to join."
"Hmm...I don't think that sofa will fit all three of us, not in the ways I want you two in anyway. Come. We'll take this to bed."
It's hours later when you finally, properly, separate from your lovers, head pillowed on Ingrid's bare chest as she draws absentminded swirls on your arm with her fingertips.
The light glow of the fake Christmas tree in the corner of the room is the only thing illuminating the walls. The light bounces along the curves and angles of Mapi and Ingrid's faces, bathing them in ethereal light so much that you just can't help but stare.
It's so calm and so beautiful that you find yourself relaxing, all tension melting from your bones before you check your phone and the illusion is shattered.
"What is it?" Ingrid asks, feeling your muscles tense against your own.
"It's nothing," You say quickly - too quickly for Ingrid's liking.
"You can tell us," She coaxes gently," What's wrong? We'll help you fix it."
"Unless you're going to be able to fix years worth of parental disappointment..." You say bitterly before sighing," No, it's nothing. I promise. Don't worry about it. Ignore me."
Mapi lifts her head up from where it was resting on Ingrid's shoulder. "You're not looking forward to going home for Christmas?"
"I...I don't know," You admit," Christmas isn't...I mean...I don't know. Patri wants me to come home with her but..." You press your face into Ingrid's skin. "I'm sick of arguing with her about it."
"You're arguing with Patri?" Ingrid asks," I don't think you've ever said that before."
"Every Christmas." You grind out the words. "I was smart enough for medical school, you know. I could have gotten in. I think that's what everyone expected of me."
"But you wanted to be a vet instead?" Mapi's hand captures one of your own, lacing your fingers together tightly and squeezing.
"I don't think my parents ever really got over it. I don't think Patri's parents really got over it either. A footballer and a doctor. It's every family's dream."
Ingrid frowns though you can't see it from the way you've buried your face in her chest.
"Your parents don't deserve you," She says simply," And Patri shouldn't make you go home with her if you don't want to."
"What else am I meant to do?"
"Come with us," Mapi says," I know you said no when we first asked but that's when you were planning on seeing your family. Come to Norway with us. We'll spend Christmas together."
"I don't want to intrude-"
"You won't be," Ingrid cuts in," You're a part of this relationship and if you're not going home then you shouldn't spend Christmas alone. We don't have to go to Norway. We can stay here. Together."
"I can't ask that of you."
"You're not asking. We're offering."
"And your parents won't mind one extra?"
"Ingrid's parents have been trying to meet you for months now," Mapi says," And you can finally meet Hector!"
Ingrid laughs. "My parents might make you give him a check up though. He's going deaf, we think."
"Really, I don't have to-"
"We want you there," Mapi insists," If you'll let us take you."
You smile, leaning over Ingrid to kiss Mapi gently before moving back to do the same with Ingrid.
"I'd love to come to Norway with you both."
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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 4 months ago
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genuinely tweaking over your OlderBF! Bruce headcannons omg. do you have any more Older BF! Bruce thoughts to spare? (I adore you and your writing <3)
I alwaysss have more Bruce thoughts to spare. I think this man takes over my mind more than my boyfriend does (not complaining :) )
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OlderBF! Bruce Wayne (Part 2)
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Sensitive content: Brief mention of kidnapping and stalking
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OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who is so utterly devoted to you. This man is at your side and obeying your every will as often as he can. You saw a pretty dress you wanted in a shop window? It's laying on the foot of your shared bed when you come home. You need attention after an argument? He's cancelling his work meetings, if he can, to spend a bit of time with you.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who underestimates just how loud and angry he can get. There is never a moment where he isn't stressed, even when he's with you. And, as much as he tries to hold back, he loses his temper so easily with you.
"Im just saying, Im concerned, alright-?" You start, arms crossed over your chest as you take a seat on the edge of your lavish shared bed.
"What, that Im cheating?" He snaps back almost immediately, head whipping around to face you as he stops pacing. In all honesty, he regrets it as soon as he sees the look in your eyes, but he's far to stubborn to ever admit that.
"Bruce, you know that's not what I mean." You respond softly, choosing not to further escalate the situation by simply laying back on the bed and picking up your book from the nightstand. "You come home every night covered in bruises and disappear out of nowhere, so forgive your girlfriend for worrying about you."
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who would rather you think that he's cheating on you than spilling his guts about being Batman. It absolutely kills him inside every single time you get misty eyed askinf if he's cheating, but he knows better than to risk your safety with the burden of knowledge.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who, god forbid, if you were ever to get kidnapped due to his line of work would push you away for good. All of your stuff would be packed away before you could even calm down for the situation. He wouldn't give you a proper goodbye, either. It would be too risky for him to ever be near you again.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who would absolutely develop a nasty habit of stalking you after a separation like that. He tells himself that it's to ensure your safety when he watches you walked into your favorite coffee shop every morning, but he's having a hard time convincing himself.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who knows just how unloveable he makes himself. Every woman he has ever been with has either been put in danger because of him or left. He doesn't think he could go through something like that with you, so he instinctively pushes you away like he always has with everybody else.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who, despite what he told himself about keeping his distance, finds himself knocking on your apartment door late at night. In his hands are a bottle of wine, your favorite flowers, and gold sheet-covered chocolates.
"Im sorry." His eyes are filled with utter guilt as he glances at your exhausted features. Bruce didnt even give you a chance to process that it was him at the door before he started throwing out apologies.
And the most you can really do for a moment is just look at him, your eyes not entirely focused as you stare out into space a little. "Thought you told me to stay away." You mutter softly, trying to blink the physical and mental exhaustion away.
"I..." How could he even deny that? He did, in fact, tell you to stay as far away as possible for your own safety. "I know." He continues after a moment or two. "But I'm selfish... I can't stay away. I... I want to explain a few things to you, if you'd consider letting me in.
Of course, you caved.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who can't bring himself to look you in the eyes as he explains himself and his nightly activities as Batman. He feels so guilty about ever putting you in danger in the first place, but he can't bring himself to stay away like he eventually learned to with Selina.
"I was scared." His quiet, honest response when you ask why he never chose to tell you about his double life. You want to be mad, you really do, but his fingers in your hair as he holds you against his chest after a few glasses of wine was just too good to resist.
"And you think I wasn't?" You ask softly, craning your neck to look up at him a lottle better. "I could handle the thought of you with other girls, Bruce..." You whisper, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. "But you have no idea how worried sick I was seeing those bruises every night. You have absolutely no idea how worried I was that they had gotten to you, too, when they took me."
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who lets himself get a little tipsy that night with you, which is rare because he always finds excuses not to drink to stay in peak physical condition for his duties. Neither of you drank enough to be intoxicated, but just enough for everything to feel warm and fuzzy. And enough for you to forgive him.
"So sorry, gorgeous..." He mutters between slow, lingering kisses. Despite seeming so brooding and tough, his lips are absolutely divine and you missed them more than you'd ever admit.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who ends up getting a little frisky when he's drinking. His hands are almost everywhere, no matter where you are. You were honestly thanking god that it was just the two of you relaxing in your apartment. Hell, he practically had you seeing god with how well he fucked.
"I love you so much..." His eyes are closed as his hips slowly slot into yours yet again, face buried into your shoulder. Normally, you'd be begging for a bit of a quicker and brutal pace, but everything was just too sweet to want anything else. The prolonged sliding of his cock into your weeping hole allowed for you to feel absolutely everything, including his utter adoration and love for you.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who tries to keep you away from the paparazzi as much as possible after the kidnapping. Sure, he hated the prying eyes of tabloids trying to disect your relationship before, but he was just so much more paranoid and anxious afterwards. He barely lets you out of Wayne Manor without him or somebody else in the family.
OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who still struggles to communicate with you, even after he's told the truth about his vigilantism. He often finds himseld lying to you without even noticing it, even about the little things like how many thugs he took down on last night's patrol. But he tries to work on it, he really does. He's started writing things down on scrap pieces of paper or notebokks that he found himself being dishonest about.
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Masterlist
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buckevantommy · 4 months ago
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Everyone's always telling Buck what he should do. Okay, sometimes he did ask for their advice, but every piece of advice he's followed through on lately has ended badly and everything they tell him to do he doesn't actually want to do.
He should want to do something if it's supposed to make him feel better, if it's supposed to be better for him, right?
Josh told him to bulldoze ahead and tell Tommy what he wanted. Tommy told him to re-enact his Buck 1.0 days and spend time with some indeterminate amount of people until he finds someone forever. Maddie and Chim told him to start dating again and also wait for the universe to bring him someone special; another someone. Hen and Eddie told him not to contact Tommy.
He doesn't want to do any of that! He wants to talk to Tommy, to see him, to get Tommy to talk to him instead of giving up on them and running away because he's scared. He wants to tell Tommy he loves him. He wants Tommy to know first and last aren't mutually exclusive. He wants to yell at Tommy, and kiss him, and hold him. He wants Tommy to apologise for breaking his heart and for being a dumbass. He wants Tommy to believe him when he says he won't do the same; well, he might be a dumbass sometimes - but he would never break Tommy’s heart. He wants to apologise for jumping ahead but also not have to apologise for wanting a life with Tommy or for being too much.
Since that first night Tommy kissed him, he's felt reborn. Not in some starry-eyed way that Tommy seems to think is fake and won't last, but in the way that he's shed the skin of past Buck upgrades and finally grown into his body, become comfortable in who he is instead of trying to fit a facade that other people would accept. Always too big, too much, not enough, never content to just sit in his self and be without his worries and insecurities moulding him into something else, something with a better chance of getting people to like him, love him, stay with him. 
He’s never felt more himself or more at ease in a relationship that meant something to him than he did with Tommy. Never felt more wholly seen - the good, the bad, and the too-much and not enough - by his partner and adored anyway, wanted anyway.
Halfway through making swiss meringue buttercream instead of breakfast, he realises he's thinking about Tommy. His coping skill, as Bobby called it, has stopped working.
There's butter and sugar in the creases of his hands and nailbeds even after he hurriedly wipes them with the dishcloth over his shoulder. He can see it as he scoops up his phone from the charger and thumbs over to his message thread with Tommy, leaving greasy crumby residue on the screen.
i saw you bubbling
After it happened, after the Chief distracted everyone enough for him to grab his phone and retreat somewhere he wouldn't be disturbed, he'd stared at the space where the unsent message had appeared for twenty minutes waiting for the type bubble to reappear. Waiting for Tommy to hit send on whatever he'd backtyped.
Buck's mind had spiralled with all the possibilities and while it spiralled and he stared and waited he never got around to actually calling or texting Tommy himself. And then the bell rang.
He has time, now. He has things he wants to say.
you were going to tell me something an maybe i wont like what it was but just knowing you almost reached out is kinda driving me crazy bc i have a fridge full of baked goods bc everytime i think about calling you i bake and now i havnt cooked a proper meal in my own place in over a week bc i dont have room in my damn fridge to store anything besides chocholate chip bananan bread and baked alaskas
He wants to say: and it's all your fault! but that's not the whole truth. Buck played his part in this, set the wheels in motion that drove Tommy away from him. But how the hell was he supposed to know that? And Tommy should've known by now he doesn't really do 'slow'.
i'm not sorry for being too much bc i shouldnt haveto apologize for being myself
Screw it. Can't get any worse, right? Tommy's getting all of him whether he likes it or not.
i dont see you as some queer life coach or someone to fill space until someon else comes along
thats not who i am
i thought you knew me better than that but whatevr ig
i wanted to live with you bc i want a life with you bc i love you
i love you
i shouldve said that first
Send after send, typing like a man possessed, he gets out everything that's been pent up inside him since the shock wore off a week ago.
His chest is heaving as the adrenaline rushes through his veins. And his eyes sting. He has to blink away tears as he reads over the last message.
He never told Tommy. Tommy doesn't know. Maybe Buck wasn't sure that night Josh asked him, but he knows it now.
i wanted you to be my last
He still does.
i wanna hate you for giving up on us
but i cant seem to hate you
This whole thing would hurt a lot less if he could just hate Tommy for what he did. It would hurt a lot less if they could find a way through this mess, together, and come out the other side stronger because they know each other better and know they want to fight for what they have.
Real love is worth fighting for. Red taught him that. Real love isn’t found, it’s made. Old gay Thomas taught him that.
Well, Buck found Tommy. Or, the universe did. And he’s going to fight, dammit, because he wants to build a future with Tommy. 
His vision has blurred with hot tears. Movement on his screen catches his attention from where his gaze had drifted over to the couch where Tommy had stayed to take care of him through his Billy Boils saga.
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Tommy is bubbling him.
Buck’s heart lurches in his chest. His breath catches.
can we talk?
There’s a huff of something like manic laughter as he swipes at his snotty nose.
that’s what i typed
Hope blooms in his chest, sudden and bright and painful in the best way.  
can we?
I think I owe it to you to yell at me in person
There’s a long moment where Buck tries to return his breathing to normal but its bated as he watches three little dots appear, then disappear. 
Then reappear. 
Then disappear.
Then:
I don’t want to give up on us either
Buck’s tears are still making his vision watery, but now they’re tears of joy. He did what he wanted to do - he reached out. And Tommy heard him.
He should take his own advice more often.
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ctimenefic · 3 months ago
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I'm going to need everyone to go look at this picture please
Done that? Thank you. Now you may understand why I was gripped by the need to write 3k of landoscar fisting in the middle of the night. If that's your cup of tea, please enjoy!
“Mate, I thought you said you’d prepped already?”
“I have-”
“I can barely get two inside, Osc.”
Oscar had got to four. Four of his own fingers, crammed inside himself in the bathroom of his stale flat, teeth locked on the sleeve of his hoodie because Lando had leaned over in the McLaren jet and said-
Said they could try it. What Oscar wanted. What he knew Oscar wanted, because he’d fucking nicked his phone and looked at his PornHub history like a cunt.
Well. They’d done it the other way round, first. Because Lando had assumed and Oscar- Oscar didn’t know how to want out loud, like Lando did. To bitch and beg and coax his way into things and somehow come out charming at the end of it. 
It’d been fine, anyway, the other way around. Oscar had come. Lando had come, with a bit more pizzazz. Ticked off, sorted, not one for the repeat list but good to have tried it. 
Except. Lando had looked across at him, when they’d taken up strategic spots either side of the wet patch, and that lax, open face had tightened up. It was still astonishing, how much Lando’s face moved when he was thinking.
“That wasn’t how you pictured it, was it?” he’d asked, quiet. Oscar can’t remember now, which hotel it was – after all, it wasn’t a night for the scrapbook. It’d had soft lighting, the kind that made Lando look improbably handsome, even when he was curled like a speech mark towards Oscar, all his softnesses on show. 
There must’ve been some kind of tell. Oscar’s not sure what it was; wants to know, so he can train himself out of it. Practise in the mirror until it vanishes into his smile. Whatever it was, Lando had reached out and wrapped his big hand round the top of Oscar’s thigh where his bent leg kept him from toppling into the space between them. The tips of his fingers stretched far enough to graze against swell of his arse, pinky at the line of his taint. 
Oscar had shut his eyes against the noise he’d made. 
“Alright,” Lando had whispered. “Good to know.” He’d squeezed, then retreated; rolled onto his back. “Triple header soon, but after the season? When I- when we’ve won.”
So. Four weeks, and one FIA gala later: Lando whispering in his ear on the flight back from Rwanda, shirtless and slutting it up as Oscar squirmed. Getting a separate car to his fucking hotel, like he wasn’t going to hop straight back in another car to get to Oscar’s. Telling Oscar to start without him. To send pictures. 
And now he’s pussying out. 
“Osc, I’m not sure we should.��� Lando’s mouth is twisted in concern, even as he slides the pads of the two fingers he’s managed to squeeze inside back and forth over Oscar’s prostate, faint and damning. “What if it’s, like, proper- nah, that’s not it. Propriat- Proportional?”
Oscar is breathing too heavily to gape at him, but it’s a near thing. The leftover lube on his hands has gone tacky, but he’s sweating; his fingers slip on the outside of his own thighs. “What?”
“You know. Like how you’re not meant to put stuff in your ears that’s smaller than your own elbow. Or, like, up your nose.” Lando puts his spare paw over where Oscar’s still holding himself open for him. His pale palm disappears entirely under Lando’s hand. 
“Do you think my arsehole is directly proportional to my hands?”
“Could be! I mean, could be anything, like George has big feet and he’s eight feet tall, and I’ve got big hands and a massive cock, and you’ve got-”
“Also a massive cock,” Oscar says, firmly, because Lando has tried humiliation kink out of the blue before, even if he can’t remember it didn’t get him fucking laid. They’re not even that different, really; it’s just the perspective, when Lando’s hand is on him, versus his on Lando. It’s what had got him thinking about it all in the first place. “That’s not how it works, we’ve got different feet and we’re the same height, you fuckwit-”
“Yeah, but maybe it does for arseholes, I can google.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, if it worked like that you’d be gaping-”
“Took all of you, didn’t I?” And he’s looking around, distracted, like he doesn’t remember dropping his phone on the sheets when he came in, a blown up picture of Oscar’s wet fingers still on the screen.
“Lando, if you fucking touch your phone,” Oscar growls. Lando makes worrying movements towards it, even though he’s still knuckle deep in Oscar’s perfectly normal-sized arse. His wrist jostles; Oscar grunts, and suddenly Lando’s frozen, eyes back to where they should be, on the spot where his fingers slip a few fractions further inside. 
“Three,” Oscar bargains. “You’ve done three before, it’ll be fine.”
Lando abandons his phone to scrabble for the lube instead. Oscar just about avoids clenching his fist in victory. Lando’s always generous with lube, hates a chafe, but now he slathers it on; when he cranes his neck to look between his knees, Oscar can see it run down his wrist, bright and shiny. 
The stretch of the third is real, past the point he’d reached on his own. Four, he’d managed, four to the second knuckle, and just the tips of three of Lando’s is more. He loses the ability to shut his mouth, has to let his head fall back to the pillow and just take. Breath through it, find the place where he can relax and still hold onto the heat of it, the way every millimetre makes his cock twitch against his stomach. 
The flare of pressure as Lando eases in his knuckles makes his eyes roll back. “Jesus, Osc. You really like it.” 
“Fucking love it,” and he means to sound flat, maybe chuck a mate on there for good measure, but he’s breathy, voice cracking. There’s a hint of dampness at the back of his throat, past the drool building under his tongue. Lando groans, high and whiny, in response; shuffles forwards, so his shoulders can help hold Oscar’s legs up and apart, give Lando room to stretch him out. 
“Lemme-” He wiggles, slightly; one finger drums on Oscar’s prostate and a thin spurt of precome stains his belly. “Just this, for a bit? And then, if you’re up for it…”
Oscar couldn’t be more up for it. But Lando’s eyes are still a little apprehensive, a little wild. Oscar can play the long game. “Sure. It’s not a sprint.” 
Lando, inexplicably, snickers. “Kinda like one though. Cause, you know. You gave it to me-” He slides his fingers out, until it’s just the tip of his middle pressed where Oscar’s body valiantly tries to close up “-and now I’ll give it to you.” Oscar’s tongue cleaves to the top of his mouth for the push back in; the noises he makes can’t strictly be called words. Lando drops a kiss to the side of Oscar’s knee, just a soft one, lips together. He gets sentimental about sprints now.
That’s why Oscar brings them up. 
The ache of the stretch eases with each steady move, in and out. Lando reaches for the lube again and Oscar almost wants to stop him, chase the burn – but he’ll never get to four without some compromises. When he can trust his voice again, he tries his best to be encouraging. “It’s good, Lando, it’s really good.”
“I know,” Lando groans, like he’s in pain, face twisted up. “Fuck, if you could see yourself, Osc, you’re fuckin’ dripping everywhere.”
It’s easy now, to bear down against Lando’s thick fingers. “More,” he pants. Rephrases. “You can- if you want-”
“Oscar.” Lando’s head drops forward, curls bouncing as he stares at Oscar’s arse. At his hole. It must look like a hole now, dark and wide. Not a furl, not a clench, or a pucker. A hole. Open. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscarrrrr.”
It works though. Another slosh of lube – not even cold now, warm from where Lando’s keeping the bottle close at hand between his knees – and that’s Lando’s pinky joining the rest, all four sliding inexorably in, all the way down past the first knuckle, the second, on and on and on.
Oscar loses his grip on his legs, but Lando keeps him splayed open with the span of his shoulders. Oscar scrabbles at the sheets instead for something to hold onto. It’s brutal, the ache. He wants to thrash. But Lando will bolt if he does. He locks his ankles together high on Lando’s back, just in case. Clamps down on the howl in his chest. 
Lando stops moving. Oscar can’t see, couldn’t lift his neck if he wanted to, training be damned, but he thinks they’ve reached the base of Lando’s fingers. The point where all he needs to do – such a little thing, really – is draw back and tuck his thumb. 
“C’mon,” Oscar- it’s not a whine. It could, perhaps fairly, be called a wheedle. He can’t quite pull off coquettish, not like Lando can when he flutters up at a camera, bites his lip. He can’t measure out his need into acceptable quantities. But it leaks out all the same. “Please, Lando. You promised.”
Lando shudders, and they both shake with it, Oscar’s body rolling like an aftershock. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He looks up, right at Oscar, and the fear hasn’t gone, but there’s something else there now, wildness abandoned for a softer, darker look. Oscar’s heart kicks in his chest. There’s saliva running down the side of Lando’s chin and then he bows his head again and spits a mouthful, frothy and white, onto Oscar’s arsehole. 
Oscar shouts, “Jesus fucking Christ” and quite possibly some other words his neighbours won’t appreciate, and when he’s got a grip on the situation again, Lando’s panting nonsense words against the inside of his leg, and the stretch is back, the stretch is good, and it must be- he must have- It’s so slow, but Oscar thinks he can feel it, pressed up against the others but oriented differently. Lando’s thumb. 
Lando rocks his way in, tiny shifts, back and forth. Past the first knuckle. The second. Down to the widest span of his hand. The palm that has sat heavy on Oscar’s shoulders, at the centre of his chest, on his throat. 
Just a bit more, and it’ll be inside him. 
And then Lando looks up and stops pushing. “Fuck. Osc. Are you- shit, I’ll.” He starts drawing back, careful but still too fast, Oscar’s body making sucking, needy noises around him.
In a panic, Oscar shakes his head. Not a neat side to side, but rolling his neck like a spooked horse, wild with it. Begs. “Don’t, Lando, please-” It comes out wet and squeaky and- Oh. He’s crying. That’s new. The kind of thing he might be embarrassed by, if he didn’t need Lando’s fist inside him with an urgency that borders on lunacy. “Please. I’m okay. I- Please.”
“Tell me you need it.” Lando’s hoarse with it, dark eyed. His free hand is shaking, but the fingertips still inside Oscar are rock steady. “Tell me it’s good.”
Oscar gulps for air. Beneath the howl in his chest there’s a twittering, fluttering panic. It’s too visible, his need. If he takes it all, he’ll be seen. Won’t be able to hide. 
“Yes,” he offers. There are still tears sliding down the sides of his face. It’s not enough for Lando’s sudden solemnity. Oscar breathes against a sob. “It’s good. I want it. I need you.”
A sharp gasp. Lando presses forward again, eyes locked on Oscar’s face. In and in and in. And Oscar takes it.
The first time, the other way around, Oscar hadn’t been able to watch when his fist disappeared. He’d felt disconnected from it; like it wasn’t a part of his body, inside a part of Lando’s. Like it was a toy. He’d been gloved up almost to his elbow, because Lando’s latex fetish was as poorly disguised as all his other cravings, but that hadn’t been why. Lando had still been hot and tight and impossibly delicate around him. He’d still been able to feel.
But Oscar had done so much work to hide his petty jealousies. To make sure he made it good. Tutorials and magazine articles and advice forums, and watching Lando charm a room with half a smile and remembering he was lucky, he was so lucky, to get this close to what he really wanted. So perhaps he hadn’t let himself get carried away in the prep, in the build; perhaps he’d let Lando carry the conversation, goading and filthy and a little bit cliché, as he got to the point. To the fist. 
And then, when he was sure he was doing it right, he’d instead been caught by the way Lando’s back had twisted, how his shoulders shook, all the strength of him pushing him down like he needed downforce to stay on the bed. He’d had the pillow between his teeth, getting it wet. Sloppy. The shine of it, of his chin, when he’d turned his head, had been the thing to rouse Oscar’s flagging dick. 
Lando had asked, then, for Oscar to touch him. Said he’d needed more. Not that it wasn’t good, mind you, he’d stressed that, said it was so fucking hot, being on Oscar’s hand like a fucking puppet. But. A touch. Something on his dick. Because it wasn’t enough for Lando, to be filled. Not with Oscar’s dainty hand. 
It’s enough for Oscar now. He howls. Clenches down on Lando’s broad wrist. He can hear it, the squeeze against skin and Lando’s insane application of lube. Every throb of his heart, every pulse in every artery seems to fall into time with the tiny movements of Lando’s fist. Inside him and through him and with him and all of him. He’s never been owned like this. Wanted enough for this. 
When he glances down, away from the ceiling, Lando looks like he’s been fucking raptured. “Oscar, shit, that’s insane, you’re- I can’t believe-” He sniffs, just once, but obvious enough Oscar has to crack a soppy wet smile at him; gets a lopsided gleam of teeth in return. “You really fucking like this,” Lando tells him, like it’s a secret. Then: “I really fucking like this too.”
When he twists his hand, his whole fucking hand, just slightly, Oscar’s orgasm hits like a thunderclap. Lando groans through it, so loud it’s like he’s been wounded; Oscar blinks up at him, worry surfacing between aftershocks, but Lando shakes his head, his free hand pressing soothingly to the back of Oscar’s thigh. Which. Fuck. When the power of speech returns, what might be a full minute later, Oscar has to chuckle. “Imagine telling Zak I broke your hand.”
Lando swats at him. “Don’t talk about Zak when I’m about to fucking cum all over you, Christ. Fuck, you look-”
A mess, he looks a mess, cum up to his neck, his face wet with sweat and tears and spit. But it must work for Lando, because he starts working his dick with his off hand, short fast tugs, not even stopping for lube.
“In me,” Oscar hears himself begging. “Inside, please.”
“It will not fucking fit!”
It’s hard to get his tongue working round the size of the thought, the way it presses at the inside of his mouth, his ribs. “No, just- pull out and I’ll. I’ll still be open. You don’t have to fuck me, just- aim.”
“Oh, fucking hell, Oscar.” But Lando does start drawing back. He’s slow about it, watching for every shiver. It’s almost better for Oscar, coming out, oversensitive, the long drag past every nerve ending and aching muscle. If he can’t keep Lando inside for hours – for ever – this will do, this shared shaking moment. Lando’s grip on his own dick has stilled, so tight it’s like he’s staving off the inevitable; like the sight of his own hand coming out of Oscar could be enough to send him over. 
There’s a final squelch of lube, and Oscar thought he’d feel empty, hollow, but his blood’s still singing with it, happy and sated. Now it’s Lando who looks desperate.
“Clench,” he orders. Begs. Oscar tries. He can feel it, where he’s still open. Cold. Lando moans, and then he’s stripping his dick, first with his left and then – Oscar’s whole body tightens and it’s still not enough to close up, but Christ – Lando switches hands, switches to the hand he had inside Oscar, hot and slick and massive, presses in close and comes, hot and shivering, against Oscar’s hole. 
Oscar catches him, when he slumps forward. There’s enough coordination back in his body that he can roll them out of the wet patch. The right side of the bed – Oscar’s side, usually – is largely unsullied. He curls them both up there, bodies aligned. Lando’s dopey with the afterglow, keeps trying to run his lubed up fingers through Oscar’s hair, letting out high, contented giggles. Oscar’s pretty sure his own smile looks loopy.
“More like you imagined it?” Lando asks, eventually. There’s a smugness to it, like he knows the answer. Oscar indulges him anyway. 
“Yeah.”
“Mint. You should- if you have any more ideas like that. Say. Cause we’re doing that again.”
Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh?”
“Obviously, not like, all the time. But special occasions. Championships. And- I don’t know, other shit.”
Championships, plural, sounds good. So do special occasions. He wants that, with Lando. Things to celebrate. Dates to remember. 
He’ll find a way to say it, eventually. “And other shit,�� he hums, for now. 
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charliemwrites · 1 year ago
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Part 2 of Neighbor!Johnny!
(Feeling a bit ✨naughty✨ this Christmas Eve so… here.)
After the fight with Ryan, you try to keep your distance from Johnny — keep the peace and all that. The more you think about the accusations your husband made… the more that guilty pit in your stomach grows.
It’s all been platonic, at least on your end. Sure, you let Johnny get away with a bit more than the average stranger, but he’s a good friend! Nothing you wouldn’t let one of your other friends do. (Even if you would find the lingering touches and general disregard for personal space a little strange from someone else.)
Sure, you have a suspicion every now and then that Johnny has more than platonic feelings for you… but they’re fleeting. Every time you worry that he’s about to cross a line, he always draws away from it. Evens out his smile, break his gaze, drops his hand. You’re close, that’s all.
But… if it’s bothering your husband. Well, you’re obligated to take that into account, aren’t you?
Even if you ache, missing your friend. Missing his silly little jokes, his cheeky grin. Miss his company while you do laundry, a helping hand in the yard, even just someone to chat with over podcasts and tv shows.
Hell, you miss hugs. Ryan’s never been big on… affection. Especially not in public.
(Barely in the house, either, really. You’ve tried talking to him about it. He swears he loves you, he just doesn’t show affection that way. You struggle to figure out why that’s so with you when he has no problem hugging his mother, sister, hell, even his secretary.
Actually… you struggle to figure out how he shows you affection. So you’ve stopped trying to figure it out at.)
But Johnny. Oh, Johnny is just so sweet to you. A hug when he greets you, a hug before he leaves. A kiss to your cheek when you hand him a drink or a snack. A hand on your hip when he leans past you to get things from high shelves. Nudges to your thighs during good parts of shows.
You miss it. Him. The friendship you’ve built in your too-quiet home, where the other neighbors seem to like your husband so much more than you.
“What’s goin’ on, hen?” Johnny asks one morning. You’ve been keeping coffee dates meetups on the porch. Which is almost worse, because it’s cold and you find yourself cuddling up to the heat he exudes like a furnace. “Hardly seen you in a month; miss my best girl.”
“Sorry, Johnny,” you sigh, rubbing at your face. Ryan’s been working late most days this week, comes in so late and wakes you up. “Just… Ryan, ya know.”
His jaw tightens, eyes flashing dangerously. You’re reminded suddenly, inexplicably, of just what Johnny does for a living. How often you’ve seen him just back home with blood still buried in his nail beds.
“Dinnae, hen,” he replies. “What about ‘im?”
You fidget, eyes on your half-empty mug. It feels wrong, admitting relationship quibbles to someone outside of family. You used to have a policy that marriage matters should stay within the marriage. But… it’s hard when it feels like you’re the only one working on the marriage. It’s a lot of work to do alone.
“He just… he doesn’t think it’s proper,” you admit, “how… how often you’re over. How close we are.”
“That so?”
You hunch your shoulders, feeling wrong. Feeling guilty for a whole new reason; for disappointing Johnny.
“Look at me, bonnie?”
He has to tip your chin up with his hand to get you to meet his eyes. His expression is softer than you expect.
“What about you, eh?”
“Me…?” You blink, peering up at him through your lashes.
“Yer feelings are all I care about, hen.”
“Johnny,” you sigh, trying to reprimand, but sound more pleading instead. He shakes your head a bit, gently; his own reprimand.
“Answer me, bonnie.”
“I like spending time with you,” you whisper.
The corners of his mouth twitch up as he hums.
“‘Course ye do,” he hums, “‘n I like spendin’ time with you. It’s not fair of ‘im, is it?”
You blink, brows pulling together in confusion. Johnny continues, the thumb on your chin gently stroking.
“Not fair of ‘im to keep you all cooped up here, come home so late, neglect ye when he is around,” he coos. “And now he’s tellin’ you to keep away from your best friend.”
He tsks, that dangerous glint in his eyes again.
“Wastin’ his tongue for bullshite when he should be usin’ it to lick your pretty pussy.”
Your mouth drops open, shock and heat flooding you hotly. “Johnny!” You gasp, scandalized.
He finally cracks a grin again. “Tell me I’m wrong, bonnie, ‘m not! When’s the last time he worked you over the way you deserve, huh? When’s the last time he made you squirt all over your sheets?”
You shove at him and then cover your burning face, trying not to squirm. Can’t answer because it would be proving him right and you don’t want to encourage his scandalous teasing.
“Bet he’d try to make you change ‘em even if he did,” Johnny grumbles, shaking his head. “Disgraceful. You ought to be put to sleep on a nice, thick cock.”
Whack!
“Oi! What was that fer?!”
“You’re being a creep, Johnny!” Your stern tone in undercut by your embarrassed laughter. “Quit talking about my shitty sex life.”
“So it is shitty!”
“Shut up!”
When a discreet box shows up at your door two days later, you know exactly who it’s from.
…that doesn’t stop you from using the (shockingly detailed and realistic) dildo inside the packaging.
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miraculouslbcnreactions · 8 months ago
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Regarding the post about Marinette being punished for trusting people and the response to it, this is something I always have trouble explaining because it sounds callous? But fictional characters aren't people. It's not that their lives just so happen to get in the way leading to something bad happened the writers decided that should happen, and it's important that you stop and ask WHY this happens. If the camera is "on" per se, people assume it's relevant and will tie into something larger. So like if the camera is on and all we see is Alya revealing her identity and then the result is she's outed in the same way she was in Heroes Day, the audience naturally concludes it's connected and thus realizes the lesson is either "Alya learns she shouldn't share her identity" OR "Marinette learns she shouldn't trust people" or both.
Secret identities are a great example of this phenomenon. We're NOT shown every time a villain's plan is foiled because they didn't know the heroe's identity, we ARE shown every time a heroe's identity causes friction in their lives. As such, large parts of the audience think of secret identites as inconveniences because that's what's shown (not just in Miraculous Ladybug, in tons of other shows)
Like you are supposed to make connections in Television about what's being shown to you that no one would make in real life (or at the very least no one SHOULD make in real life) because there's a limited space to tell the story and the audience is assuming the writers aren't wasting our time.
If these were real people it would be unreasonable to say because people have their own lives Marinette can't trust them, but in a story where Marinette is the main character who is explicitly always supposed that's. An accurate way to read the story!
And I also understand that this is a very boring construction if you're making headcanons or thinking about these characters! But that's a different lens, it doesn't make the broader writing lens invalid. You're speaking different languages at that point.
Anyway I hope that helps someone, that's my two cents
You summed it up perfectly! There's a ton of valid criticism to be had of Miraculous, but you can tell from the narrative framing that almost all of it comes down to writing choices and not things that are supposed to be seen as in-universe issues even though a lot of fans treat them as such. It's really weird to see things like people complaining about everything revolving around Marinette as if it's a personal flaw of hers and not the result of her being the main character in a fictional world. "Main Character Syndrome" literally pulls its name from the fact that this is how main characters work in a lot of media. It's a flaw when a real person does it, but in terms of story telling, it's extremely normal - and often good story telling - to have everything revolve around your main character or a core cast.
The issue with Miraculous is that they chose a lot of poor conflicts if they wanted Marinette to be the one and only main character, but that's not her fault. She didn't decide to have the rules around identities make no sense. The writers did. She didn't decide to make the main villain Adrien's dad while also keeping Adrien from being involved in the story. The writers did. The list goes on and on and, because none of it reflects badly on Marinette in the writers' eyes, the show doesn't act like Marinette is in the wrong. Remember, these are the same writers who think that Derision was a great episode that added depth to Marinette instead of destroying her character and making her look unhinged. Their judgement is clearly a little skewed.
While the writers love to make bad plot choices, they are generally using proper story telling language to make those choices, which is why I can tell you how characters' actions are intended to be read. The Rena Furtive and Nino example is a great one because it allows me to show that the writers do understand how to set things up. In fact, once they've decided that they're going to do a thing, they pretty much always set it up at a basic level. It's rarely spectacular and often frustrating, but it's never shocking.
In Rocketear, Alya promises Marinette that Nino will never learn about Rena Furtive. The episode then ends with her breaking that promise via the following exchange:
Alya: (sighs) I'm still Rena Rouge. (Nino gasps.) But now I'm in hiding and that's why Ladybug asked me not to tell anyone. Nino: But why are you telling me if no one's supposed to know? Is Ladybug cool with this? Alya: I can't hide it from you, because I love you, Nino, and we share everything.
Look at how this confession is presented. Look at what the dialogue focuses on. When Marinette confessed her identity to Alya, it was all about the confession and supporting Marinette. There was no discussion of this being a problem for Chat Noir or anything like that because - in the writers' eyes - that wasn't a problem for some reason. This is why Chat Noir almost instantly absolves Ladybug of blame once he finds out about the identity reveal (see: Hack-San.) The writers didn't want it to be an issue so it wasn't:
Ladybug: I'm really sorry, Cat Noir. I should've told you. I mean, if I found out that you told someone about your secret identity, I'd... probably be upset, too. I'm really sorry I hurt your feelings. Cat Noir: You didn't hurt my feelings. You did everything right
But when Alya confesses her identity to Nino, the conversation is not just about her confession. It's about her confession and how she's not supposed to do this. That's why Nino's response is not loving support. Instead, he asks if this is a good idea and if Ladybug knows.
These things are getting focused on because the writers are telling you that this is a bad thing. It's supposed to feel ominous. When I first watched Rocketear, I assumed that the season was going to end with Gabriel getting the fox off of Alya due to Nino because that was an obvious way to raise the stakes and they'd just heavily implied that Nino knowing would be a bad thing. I was, unfortunately, right. The only on screen consequence of Nino knowing is that he outs Alya to everyone in an incredibly forced series of events (see: Strikeback):
(Ryuko successfully prevents the Roue de Paris from hitting them, yet, it flies to the direction where Rena Furtive is. This causes Carapace to panic.) Carapace: Rena! (takes out his shield) Shell-ter! (Carapace's superpower successfully prevents the Ferris wheel from hitting Rena Furtive on top of the Tour Montparnasse. But the information of Rena Furtive's active status shocks the heroes, as well as Shadow Moth.) The heroes: Rena?! Shadow Moth: (from the top of the Eiffel Tower) She's still active?
Of course the Ferris Wheel goes straight for Alya's hiding spot and of course Nino screams her name before casting his power and of course the villain overhears it. It's all so forced and unnatural, which should make it glaringly obvious how much the writers wanted this to happen. This wasn't something they were kind of forced to do because it made sense for the narrative and they wanted to tell a good story. Instead, they wrote an awkward series of events because they really, really, really wanted Nino knowing to be a bad thing that outs Alya so that Marinette loses all of the miraculous even though none of this makes much sense.
How the hell did Gabriel hear Nino's shout from so far away? Is he able to overhear everything the heroes are saying? How does Nino even know that Alya is hiding there? And since when was a Ferris Wheel a threat to these guys? Your girlfriend is a magical girl and she's in her magical girl form, dude. You could drop a building on her and she'd be fine, a thing you have to know because this scene literally goes on to have Chat Noir go flying into a building, hitting it so hard the cement literally cracks, and no one really cares. I guess it's fine if Adrien is a punching bag, but Alya must be protected at all costs...
Anyway, while the above series of events was annoying, none of it was surprising. In fact, it would have all be perfectly predictable even if Alya outing herself was that treated as a more neutral event. Her choice leading to bad things falls perfectly in line with a truly bizarre running theme in the show: outing your identity to the person you love romantically is a bad thing that leads to bad consequences. That's why Chat Blanc and Ephemeral ended the world and why Nino knowing cost Ladybug the fox and why the character they call Joan of Arc has to give up her miraculous to be with her love and why the Kwami's have this absolutely asinine dialogue in Kwamis' Choice:
Plagg: Sugarcube! Having to force them to choose between love and their mission is just awful! Maybe Master Fu was wrong to choose them. Tikki: No, they’re made for each other. Love is what gives them their strength. Plagg: But the impossible part of that love is destroying them, and I know a thing or two about destruction. Tikki: (sighs heavily) What can we do? Plagg: We must free them of that impossible choice. We must… free them of us.
This is the voice of the author telling you that outing the identities is not and never will be a good choice for the love square. Never mind that Alya is allowed to know Marinette's identity or that Gabriel finding out is what actually ended the world in the alternate timelines or that Felix outted himself in public but is still wielding or that freaking Gabriel was allowed to know half of the temp heroes' identities while they were still actively wielding. For some reason, those things don't matter to the narrative, probably because romantic love wasn't involved. The "identity reveals are a bad thing" rule only seems to apply when romantic love is a key element to the point where it's a reoccurring theme in this supposed power of love show.
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queers-gambit · 1 year ago
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Opening Night and Open Hearts
prompt: opening night - a mother's fear, a locked walk-in freezer, confessions through a thick metal door, questioning what's deserved, and a proposal at The Bear after hours.
pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader
fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear
word count: 9.8k+
note: i think i give enough background for you guys to feel as if you don't need to read any other relating works, but i linked the fics that could be read as a small series (maybe?) also let author be lonely in peace
warnings: reader nicknamed Peach, established relationship, cursing, spoilers, fluff, angst, relationship angst, hurt and comfort, Carmy still (desperately) needs a nap, depiction of physical illness, boys are dumb and emotions are hard, reader-insert, depiction of toxic family, OC Carmy that grovels a lot, not edited!
⚠️ season two, episode ten spoilers
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not necessary to read, but other relating works with Peach:
Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant
God's Plan part two: Two to Tango
Neon Sticky Notes
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"Hi, yes, I can hear you - sorry about that, I was just making note of your reservation," you spoke smoothly into the phone, trying not to ogle your boyfriend wrapped in only a clean blue towel. "So, that's a party of four for Monsieur Claude Badeaux - all right, that's so lovely. I'm obligated to remind everyone that tonight's opening is a fine dining experience and the proper, corresponding dress code is being asked for. Are there any allergies I should make note of for your party?"
"Jean Paul has a tree nut allergy," you were told.
"All right, that's noted and highlighted: Jean Paul has a tree nut allergy. If there's anything else I could help you with?"
"Non," he chuckled. "I was surprised to see your invitation to this evening, though, mon cher. It's been so long, yes?"
"Well, it was my pleasure to extend the offer, we're ecstatic by your reservation," you chuckled. "We'll see you tonight, Monsieur, and should you need anything before then, you may call this number again."
You said your parting words in French, smiling at Carmy when you hung up and dropped your work phone. "Did I hear that correct?" Your lover asked with a broad grin, "Was that...?"
"Senior marketing advisor at The Washington Post?" You filled in for him. "Uh, yeah, I think it was, but you know me - I could be wrong."
"You invited someone from The Washington Post to the opening tonight?"
"Is that okay?" You asked, standing from the bed after making note in your datebook. "You look kinda - I don't know, shocked?"
"I-I am," he blinked at you, watching you gather his pristine clothing to hang on the closet door. "But in a good way - I can't believe you did this," he chuckled, wiping his mouth. "I mean - holy shit, Peaches."
You offered a toothy grin, "Figured I could pull a few of my own strings to help get the word out about your love-child."
This made Carmy snicker, "Hey, now. Tonight's important, don't make fun."
"I know," you nodded, leading him back into the bathroom to view your hair products. "Which is why I invited some important people and some not-so important people. I know this is serious, Carmy," you smiled at him, hoping to convey your support, "and I wanted to help in whatever way I could."
"You being there tonight is more than I could ask for," he chuckled, helping you onto the small bathroom counter. You squirted a bit of hair product in your hand, watching him flinch back a little, "Uh, I just don't want my hair greasy, Peach, you know? Not a good look and I'll sweat it out in the kitchen."
"I feel like I should be offended by you having no trust in me," you teased, insisting, "I know whatcha need, baby, lemme help."
Carmy smiled softly and held still, letting you run your hands through his curls to push everything back and away from his forehead in a stylish but manageable "do". There was a silent, serene moment as you and Carmy just existed together in a mundane space, his big, sad eyes watching your face as you worked. He wondered, "Think tonight's gonna be okay?"
"I think tonight's gonna be more than okay," you assured softly. "I think tonight's gonna go better than you're anticipating."
He sighed and planted his hands on either side of you, suddenly dropping his gaze. "I, uh... Sugar invited Mom t'tonight..."
"Yeah, I know."
"You know?"
"Sugar and I are still friends outside of us dating, Carmy," you smiled patiently, slowing your hands so you more toyed with his curls; pushing some strands behind his ears. "She needs someone as much as you do and I don't mind."
"But isn't that what Pete's for?"
"Yes, but you know, Pete's Pete."
Carmy snorted, "Yeah, yeah, good point."
"I don't know if she'll show up tonight, Bear, but whether she does or doesn't, it won't matter - you're not doing this for her. This is for you, Carmy, tonight's about The Bear opening - it's about you and this incredible, amazing thing you've done. Okay?" You caressed both his cheeks in your hands so he could only look at you directly. "If she shows, that's great," you whispered with a soft smile as your thumbs swept the apples of his cheeks, "and if she doesn't, it won't make tonight any less special. That, I can promise."
Carmy's forehead met yours, both pausing to breathe together; peace always a fleeting feeling as of late and being something you both capitalized on. You brought him in closer for an embrace, his face burying in your neck as your arms snaked around his to keep him as close as possible. His arms were tight around your waist, legs spread to accommodate him; both needing the feel of being close before that night's inevitable stressful event.
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"Wow, well, don't you look all pretty! Wow, Peach," Pete greeted you when you scurried to the table with your friend in tow. "Oh, hi there!"
"Pete, this is my best friend, Danielle, and Dani, this is Pete, Sugar's husband."
"Hi, it's really nice to meet you," your friend greeted, the two instantly chattering as they both just blew past their introductions to instantly compliment one another's clothes. You smirked, knowing they'd get along famously, and looked around the brand new, packed restaurant.
"Hey, there she is, my pretty girl," Richie greeted smoothly, approaching your standing form to slide his hand around your shoulders.
"Hi, Cousin," you beamed, offering him a hug in greeting. "The place looks fantastic - it's so - I mean - just wow, Richie," you complimented. "You guys did such an amazing job. I need to tell Fak, too, this is - you guys should be so proud, it looks incredible. Hardly can believe what it was before this."
"It really is something, huh?" He grinned. "Hey, Pete," he nodded.
"Hey, Richie."
"And you must be the famous, the fabulous Miss Danielle?"
"That's me," your friend grinned. "You're Richie, right? Carmy's cousin who's not really a cousin but is as good as blood?"
"Yes, ma'am, the very same," he nodded with pride. "We've some drinks coming your way in just a moment, but I need to borrow Peach for just one second."
"Why do they call her Peach?" Dani asked, but Richie was leading you away as Pete was heard answering,
"Oh, because she mastered this peach cobbler with Carmy's mom, Donna, and she started the nickname..."
"What's wrong?" You asked softly with a smile as to not give the illusion to others that you were worried. "What can I do to help?"
"No, no, nothing too bad, you were just requested by the Frenchie-French guy."
"Oh, right, that's right, yeah, I can help with that," you sighed gently, smiling as you approached the table. Greeting the two men and women was easy, Richie impressed by your connections in the professional world. Tonight, The Washington Post didn't just dine with them - no, it was also the director of social media for three luxury, designer brands: Jean-Paul.
Yes, the man was so elusive that he just went by Jean-Paul. Fuck a last name!
Either way, it impressed Richie to hear the introductions. The two women were executives in their own companies, names Richie didn't catch because he was busy taking note of the way Mr. Frenchie-French was basically eye fucking you in front of them all.
"Well," Richie smiled stiffly, "tonight's incredibly special for us. In fact, uh, Y/N's boyfriend is the owner and head chef."
"Really?" Frenchie-French perked his brows, shifting his gaze over to you. "You always had a soft spots for chefs, non? For those who were versed in the culinary arts?"
"Well, mostly I appreciated a man in the kitchen simply because I burn water and would probably unintentionally starve myself," you teased easily, deflecting the man's subtle dig. "I'm actually here with family tonight, so, please, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy tonight - I know I'm biased when I say the food is exceptional, but I look forward to your own opinions."
"We will talk later, mon cher, I am sure there will be plenty to discuss," the Frenchman promised, kissing the back of your hand as you let Richie lead you away by your free hand.
You released a long sigh, muttering, "Bring them a bottle of real champagne, please, Richie, I had a few bottles imported just for them. Listen closely," you lowered your voice as you both paused on the side of the dining room, "bring them a bowl of thin sliced strawberries sprinkled in sugar and pop the cork at their table - it's impressive for whatever reason."
Richie pecked your temple and gave you a tight squeeze, "I got it all covered, girly. You all right? Look like you're gonna be sick?"
"Just men being men grosses me out, I guess," you sighed with a small shrug. "He's always had a thing for me, I figured I'd use that to get him here tonight - Carmy's work speaks for itself, but maybe he'd be inclined to publish an article or two for us if I play nice."
Richie paused you a few feet from your table, complimenting, "I hope Carmy knows he doesn't deserve you, Peach."
"You said years ago neither of us did," you smirked gently. "Said I wasn't relationship material, right? Remember?"
"I was wrong," he nodded. "I even said y'all would never be serious, but..." He scoffed to himself, "I've never seen that boy so crazy about anyone in his life. You've really changed him, Peach. I don't really know how to thank you."
"You can start by buttering up those flirty Frenchmen," you teased, giving his cheek a peck.
"On it," he winked, parting from your side.
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Inside the kitchen some twenty minutes later, Richie approached Carmy, directing his attention, "Cousin?"
"Yo."
"Peach is on 17 with Pete."
"Okay."
"Go say hi."
"Yeah, eventually," Carmy nodded absently, never halting his work.
"Eventually?" Richie repeated with distain, something in his stomach twisting.
"Where the fuck is Josh!?" Carmy called into the kitchen, another chef echoing his concerns.
"Yo!" Richie barked as calmly as he could, "Just go say hi to your girl, Cousin."
"Yo, I'll go when I have a minute," Carmy deflected strongly. "I'm in the fuckin' shit, leave me the fuck alone."
"What? I'm saying - "
"I'll get there when I can get there!"
"I'm saying!"
"What?" Carmy barked.
"She's got important fucking people in that dining room, man," Richie scoffed, hands held up in defense. "Just for your ungrateful ass! Maybe the least you can do is go say fuckin' hi - even if you're fuckin' busy. She knows that, it'd be a nice gesture - or whatever fuckin' shit - I don't know! She's your girl!"
"Yeah! Exactly!" Carmy barked. "She's my fuckin' girl, she knows the fuckin' drill, I'll go say fuckin' hi when I get the fuckin' chance, Richie! Fuck's sake! Always tryna meddle and shit!"
"Jesus, fuck," Richie sighed, turning out of the kitchen with his hands waving Carmy off in defeat.
You were none the wiser, entertained by Pete and Dani's gabbing as Sugar was in-and-out, dealing with all the little things going wrong. These little things came to her in the form of notes left at the table subtly for her to go solve, you wanting to help but being shot down every time. Eventually, Carmy was approaching your table with a tray of food, shocking you slightly.
"Hey, Peach," He greeted softly, lowering the tray to balance on the table and lean over to kiss your cheek. "You look gorgeous, baby, wow," he complimented in a whisper, offering another quick kiss.
"Thank you, Chef," you smiled brightly, touching his forearm in a sign of affection. "What's all this you've got for us?"
He hummed and explained what he set on the table in front of you guys; eyes alight and cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. He poured whatever sauce came with the main dish, smiling at Dani, nodding to Pete, then looking to you.
"I'll check on you later, all right, baby?" He mumbled, watching you nod. "I gotta get back," he whispered, "but thank you for being here, my pretty girl."
"No where else I'd rather be, Cream," you rushed, letting his lips find yours briefly.
"Stick around after, would you? When we close, just... Don't leave yet."
"Yes, Chef," you whispered against his lips with a grin. He gave one single more kiss before pulling away to stand upright.
"Enjoy," he bid the table before walking away.
"So, like," Dani trailed after making sure Carmy was out of earshot, "when's the wedding? 'Cause that might've been the cutest thing I've seen. I mean, opening night, he's cooking, but paused to come serve us? Serve you? And he's so soft with you, kissin' you, bein' all cute," she pouted dramatically. "I want a reason to wear a maid of honor dress, please."
"Hey, hey, chill on us. There's no wedding," you sighed with a small laugh, trying to play off how the subject made your stomach twist. "We haven't really talked about it, you know? No biggie."
"What?" She sputtered. "Wait, hang on. Y'all have been together - like - a stupid, ridiculous amount of time. The fuck you mean you haven't talked about it? What are y'all doing, just ignoring the elephant in the room?"
You shrugged lightly, "I don't know, we know if we ever got married, it'd be to each other, but that's really it. We know we want to be together, we know we want to marry each other, but there's been no serious conversation about it."
"Uh, does that sound right to you?" Dani asked Pete.
He shook his head as you all took dainty bites of food to savor the flavors (and save Sugar some). "When I knew with Natalie, I didn't hesitate."
"Well, Carmy isn't like you, Pete," you defended. "He's got a lot on his plate, too, you know?"
"You've said that since Mikey," Dani frowned, her voice quiet.
"With good reason, don't you think? Carmy's just - he's just going through a lot right now and it's a challenge, you know?"
"No, it's more like Carmy's got the emotional intelligence of a fucking teaspoon!"
"Hey," you snapped, "that's not his fault, he doesn't know much better, so watch your mouth."
"He does with you, like... He knows better when he's with you, when it comes to you, Peach," Pete offered softly. "Look, maybe Danielle has a point - it is a little weird. I mean, you guys have been together, what? Six, almost seven years? Creeping up on a decade of just dating - that's a long time. And didn't you guys do that weird little half-dating thing for two years before making it official? Don't you think that's enough time to know if you want to marry someone, and then, you know? Actually marry them? Or at least ask them?"
"Sure, maybe to other people, but Carmy and I have never been conventional, so, I don't see why we need to start now."
Danielle scoffed, "Look, God love Carmy and everything, but you're just wasting time now. He needs to either commit or let you find someone who can actually love you like you deserve."
"Oh, and Carmy doesn't?"
"Wasn't all that long ago that you two took a break 'cause he called you clingy - and some other unsavory terms," Danielle shrugged. "Doesn't really sound like someone who loves you unconditionally - the way you should be loved."
You sighed and sat back in your chair, "I appreciate the insight, but Carm and I are fine. Okay? We've got years under our belts, we don't want to fuck up what obviously works for us so chill out on the questions, okay? I don't have answers to them."
Danielle and Pete shared a look before the man got up to excuse himself to the restroom. You and Dani finished your meals before sipping your wine, waiting for Pete, but Dani sighed, "This lady's been staring in here for, like, ten minutes already. It's freezing, doesn't she want to come in?"
"Hmm? What're you - ?"
"This lady on the street," your friend pointed over her shoulder towards the window her back was now turned to.
When you peaked out, you gasped lightly when you saw Donna Berzatto smoking a cigarette. "Oh, shit!" You stood from your seat, rushing, "Okay, so, uh, yeah - just - can you just sit here for a second? I have to go handle that."
"Who is it?" Dani wondered earnestly.
"I got it, Peach," Pete told you, passing by the table swiftly with a hand patting your shoulder to keep you at your table.
"What the hell's happening?" Dani asked. "Who is that?"
"Nothing, no one, it's okay, I think that's someone we know, just, uh, hang on a second? We'll be right back."
"Sure," she nodded in confusion, watching you get from your seat and follow Pete out the door onto the blistering cold sidewalk.
"Hey, Mama Donna," you greeted happily, arms crossing over your chest to protect from the wind. "Have you been inside yet? We saved you a seat and all, but isn't this - just wow?" You grinned, trying to encourage her to say anything about her children's hard work.
"Oh, no, no, not you, too, Peach, why are you here?" She groaned lightly, looking upset and close to tears.
"I'm here 'cause of Carmy? I-It's opening night, yeah?" You offered in confusion. "Why? What's wrong, Mama D?" You worried, glancing at an emotional Pete.
"No, it's just, I can't come in, I can't, just no," she backed away, only now making you notice the way Pete cried. "I'm so sorry, Peach, honey, but I was never here. Okay? I-I'll call them later, I swear, I promise, I'll call them - but I-I-I wasn't here. Okay? You can't tell them I was here. I'm so sorry."
"Donna, don't do this," you begged, head shaking. "Don't, please. Just come in with Pete and I - just sit there for a bit. Just come in and see what your kids have done - Donna, it's so beautiful. You'd be so proud, but you should really see it for yourself - "
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, not tonight, no, I'm sorry, I can't," she deflected in a rambling mumble, turning and hustling down the sidewalk with her head shaking like a Etch-A-Sketch.
You rounded on Pete, "What the hell was that? Pete, what just happened?"
"Um, I-I don't - I didn't mean to."
"Pete? What didn't you mean?"
"She didn't tell her mom about the baby," he rushed, tears falling. "Nat didn't tell Donna, Peach, and I think I just did - I think I just fucked up and told her."
"Oh, no... No, Pete, you didn't."
"I didn't mean to! I swear it was an accident!"
"No, I know you didn't mean to, honey," you rushed, opening your arms to bring him in for a tight hug. "Oh, you poor boy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pete."
He sighed, "I'm sorry, too, Peach."
"For what?"
"That... We fell in love with Berzattos and this is our new normal now, right?" He sniffled.
You half-smiled, "Yeah, something like that. But it's okay. See, where Donna's afraid to give her love, neither of us are. Sugar and Carm deserve that from us, right? To be authentic and just love them?"
He nodded, "Yeah, you're right."
"And that's all we gotta do... Is love them, Pete."
"God knows where else they'd get it," he huffed, wiping his face. "Hey, um, I'll be in, in a second - I just need a minute alone, I think, in the cold."
"Take all the time you need," you agreed.
"We're not - we're not telling them about this, right?"
You sighed, "No, I don't think so - at least right now. It might hurt them more, you know? To know Donna was here, but never came in. That she ran away... Again. It'll hurt, they deserve to be happy about tonight."
Pete nodded rapidly, looking like he was gonna burst into tears. Instead of going back inside, you just moved to Pete's side and stood there; producing a cigarette, lighting it, offering Pete a drag that he turned down, and the both of you just standing silently; one smoking, one crying, both processing.
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"Wow, look at these gorgeous ladies! By far the baddest in the whole place! Yeah, man!" Fak teased as he approached you and Danielle after closing the The Bear officially. "What a privilege to have you both dine with us this evening! Ugh, truly an honor to see you both here," he praised comically, evening giving a small bow that his brother mimicked.
Your eyes rolled, "You're laying it on really thick when I already tipped you." He snickered with Theo. "Hey, seriously, though, tonight was incredible. I mean, it was all so beautiful, you should all be so proud."
"Oh, we are," Neil giggled, his brother hanging off his shoulders.
"Good," you teased. "Uh, is now an okay time to go back and see him? Kinda wanna offer my compliments to the chef directly, you know?"
"No," Fak answered instantly, "uh, well, probably not the best time."
"Yeah, probably not," Theodore echoed.
"I can sense you two ramping up to something," you sighed, "so, I'm gonna ask you skip all that and tell me what's wrong. Why can't I go see my boyfriend? He just had an incredibly successful opening night, I kinda wanna kiss him if you don't mind."
"Um, well, h-he didn't want you to worry, so, he said not t'tell you, but, uh... Yeah, no, Carmy's, like, locked in the walk-in freezer. Han Solo style."
"What?"
"Locked in the walk-in," Fak nodded rapidly, "yeah, no, the handle - like, the whole handle came off. He's locked in, Peach..."
"Oh, my fucking God," you breathed. "Are you saying he - he missed opening night? Neil!"
"Yeah, kinda... Well, sorta - I mean, technically, but - "
"Oh, Jesus," you breezed past them all.
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"Mmm-mmm, the fridge guy's name is Terry," Tina corrected Carmy, flinching a little when he slapped the other side of the metal door he was locked behind.
"See, th-tha-that's what I'm talking about!" Carmy raged. "I'm so fucking distracted, and for what? For fucking what? 'Cause of a girl?" He chuckled ruefully to himself.
"Nuh-uh, don't do that, Carmy," Tina scolded. "That's not no girl, that's your girl, that's Peach - you don't lash out at her, baby."
"Yo, maybe - maybe I'm just not built for this. Right? Maybe that's okay! Maybe that just is. She'd be better off, Tina... I'm just - I'm not built for this."
But what Carmy didn't hear was Sydney asking Tina to cover her at the front because she needed to step out the back, get some air; Tina accepting and telling Carm to hang on a moment. Something he missed. While Tina took Syd's spot, Syd rushed outside, and you slipped in the kitchen door; Carmy being surrounded by shitty ripped tape and an entire side full of the flowers he had brought in for tonight - for you. It was a haunting reminder; something suffocating.
When you got to the walk-in, you were prepared to call out for Carmy, but he started speaking from within, halting any word on your tongue.
"I wasn't here b-because I was looking a-a-at fucking engagement rings when the fridge guy fuckin' called," Carmy ranted, your heart stalling in your chest. "Right? Like, what the fuck was I thinking? Like I was gonna get married? Commit to this relationship? Be h-her fucking husband or some shit? Have a fucking wife? I'm a fucking - I'm a fuckin' psycho!" He laughed a little, the tears springing to your eyes as his words disarmed your heart and emotional dam. "That's why! That's why I'm good at what I do! That's how I operate! I am the best because I didn't have any of this fuckin' bullshit, right? I could - I could focus and I could concentrate and I had a routine and I - and I had fuckin' cell reception, and Peach and I just had our own routine! We didn't need this extra bullshit, and now..."
You just listened, leaning on the freezer's door, tears silently leaking down your cheeks as you had the horrendous realization that you were what now slowed Carmy down. You were what currently stood in his way, when this whole time, you thought you were helping; making things easier; supporting him. No... No, his words rattled your heart to accept that you were now the bane; the object of his ire. You and your relationship was what was wrong and was causing Carmy hurt and professional complications.
Something you never wanted to contribute towards. You both always said if this relationship got to be too hard, you'd walk away. Better to feel anger than resentment; and now, you knew you had to walk away else risk that resentment fester.
Carmy started up again, "I don't need to provide amusement or enjoyment, I don't need to be someone's 'to have and to hold'. I don't need to receive any amusement or enjoyment, nor for someone to have and hold me... And I'm completely fine with that. Because no amount of good is worth how terrible this fucking feels." You were ready to open your mouth, but he finished by nailing the final nail in the coffin of your relationship, "It's just a complete waste of fuckin' time - entertaining what I know I shouldn't. Being in this relationship, trying to give what I don't have, wasting everyone's time."
You took your chance, speaking through your tears, "I'm really sorry you feel that way, Carmen."
"Peach?" Carmy rasped from behind the door, sounding more alert than he had before. "Baby? Hey, hey, Peaches? That you? Peach - hey. Hey," he sounded desperate as you backed away from the door, a fist pounding into the metal, "hey, no, Y/N? Y/N!" The seriousness settled over you both, Carmen understanding you heard a lot more than ever intended and once those words are out there, there's no getting them back. "Y/N, baby? Hey, no, no, Y/N - listen to me - hey, no, no! I-I didn't know you were there, baby, okay? No, Y/N, please - tell me you're there now, let me explain." He paused. "Let me explain! Please! C'mon, baby, please, let me fucking explain - tell me you're still there! Y/N? Y/N!"
You sniffled and walked away, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life. You barely noticed when the kitchen door opened, not until a figured dressed in black stopped you. "Peach? Hey, hey," Richie halted you - taking note of the tears. "What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay - who fuckin' did it?"
You just stared at Richie for a long moment, opening your mouth twice before sighing and smiling sadly. "I never wanted to be what got in his way," you whispered sadly. "I'm sorry, Richie."
"Peaches, hey, what's - "
But you reached up to kiss his cheek, "Tonight was so beautiful, Cousin, and I'm so fucking proud of you all. Thank you for everything - not just tonight, Richie, but everything you do." You smiled again, whispering, "Take care of him. Okay? He'll need you."
"What're you talking about? What's going on? Where are you going? Hey, where are you going, Peach, please?"
"Have a good night, Richie, I love you," you whispered, leaving out the kitchen door as quickly as you could. "Hey," you sniffled, approaching Dani with the Fak Brothers, "can we go now, please?"
"Are you okay?" Dani worried in shock.
"I'd really like to go, Dani, please," you rushed, throwing your coat on and smiling at the Brothers as if your heart wasn't in pieces. "Thanks again for tonight, you guys, it was magical."
"Peach? Wait, hey, are you okay, baby? What just happened?" Neil worried, watching you snatch Dani's hand, but pause when screaming was heard from the kitchen. Everyone stared at the door, Neil muttering, "The fuck are they...?"
"Now, Dani, please," you whimpered to your friend, who wasted no time in escorting you out of The Bear. The moment you were outside, you burst into sobs, Dani grunting a little as she lead you down a side alley to lean you on a brick wall and beg you to breathe normally.
"What the hell just happened? Hey, honey, you need to breathe," she smoothed hair off your face - but it was like you were drowning in the air with the way you gasped and gaped and panted and whimpered and choked yourself.
"I-I-I-I think - I think w-we're done, I think we're done, I think - oh, fuck - I think we just broke up," you sobbed, hands on your knees. "Oh, my God, Dani," you whimpered, "I-I think - I think we're done, Danielle, oh, my fucking God. I-I heard things tonight that I just - I can't not know, anymore! He said - fuck! He was just so candid, he didn't know I was there so h-he was sayin' things I have t-to now confront - and I really didn't fucking want to! He just - he doesn't want to really marry me, D, and-and-and he was apparently looking a-a-a-at rings - fucking engagement rings! But then he said that w-was the issue - he missed the fridge guy's call 'cause he was looking at fucking rings for me and this is why he missed opening night - 'cause the fucking fridge broke! Oh, my God, Danielle, i-i-it's my fault, it's my fucking fault, he missed the most important night of his life and it's my fault - "
You were cut off by your stomach lurching, emptying your insides onto the pavement. The delicious appetizer, the tantalizing main course, Marcus' fresh baked bread that was delightfully soft on the inside yet baked crisp on the outside, and every bit of the sweetened dessert - all wasted on Chicago bricks.
"Okay, okay, ah, shit, just get it out, babe, there you go," Danielle held your hair, catching you in a suffocating hug once you were done puking. "I've got you, babe, I've got you. You're okay, no, hey, this isn't your fault. I've got you, come on. I think we need pints of ice cream and the saltiest pretzels we can find," she pushed some hair from your sticky forehead, pouting dramatically, "maybe some Pepto? Few Saltines and ginger ale? C'mon, we're going back to mine, there's a good girl," she coaxed you from the ground and away from the wall, "c'mon, you're stronger than this. There's my girl, here we go, just one foot in front of the other - together, with me, just like that."
You sobbed, not knowing that Sydney and her father stood listening just a few feet away behind a set of dumpsters.
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The moment the freezer's door was open and Carmy was free, he was sprinting around the kitchen to grab his coat, leave Neil in charge of closing, and racing out the door as the Fak Brothers yelled at him for hurting your feelings.
"Hey, hey, hey, Chef! Carmy, wait!" Sydney chased him outside.
"No time!"
"Wait! She went with her friend!"
Carmy came to a tripping halt, catching himself before he hit the pavement before whirling around to approach her, "What?"
"Her friend? She was with some girl tonight?"
"Yeah - yeah, yeah, yeah, uh, um, that's - yeah, that's Danielle," Carmy nodded. "Her best friend, yeah, they were here tonight, sitting with Pete and Sugar."
"Listen, Carmy, I heard them when they left the restaurant... Peach was really upset, like, more upset than I've ever heard, saying you two broke up? Or something? She cried so hard, Carm, she actually threw up, it sounded like she was in genuine distress. I-I didn't know if I should've intervened, but her friend was with her and helping."
"Shit - fuck - Goddamnit," he seethed. "All right, thank you - "
"I doubt they went to your place, I think I heard her friend saying they were going to her apartment."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, great, I know where Dani lives, thanks Syd!" Carmy bid, sprinting in the other direction - never bothering with the public bus system, just running into the night. Sydney was left to sigh on the sidewalk, Neil and Theo joining her before Richie followed - all watching Carmy disappear down the sidewalk.
"He's a fucking idiot," Richie shook his head.
"What the hell even happened?" Syd asked.
"Carmy mouthed off in the walk-in, Peach heard it all," Richie supplied. "You know the dumbass was gonna propose tonight?"
"What?" Syd blinked in shock.
"Yeah," Neil tacked on, "we had a whole plan and everything. Candles, soft music, flowers - there's a bunch of flower bouquets in the walk-in."
"I'm sure that was hard for Carm to look at," Syd sympathized.
"Doesn't excuse whatever he said," Richie snapped. "She looked devastated."
"She cried so hard, she threw up in the alley," Syd frowned.
"How do you know?" Neil asked.
"I heard her," the other chef frowned. "My dad and I - we actually both heard her."
"Jesus fuck," Richie seethed.
"I mean... Should we still set up?" Theo wondered to his brother. "What if they kiss and make up, like always? Carmy might still wanna go through with the proposal, right? You know?"
"Maybe," Neil trailed, looking at Richie.
"I don't fucking know," he sighed, hands on his hips.
"She thinks they broke up, I imagine whatever she heard was pretty nasty," Sydney frowned. "Think they'll really make up tonight?"
"Let's hope," Richie sighed. "That fuckin' idiot isn't gonna find anyone better than Peach. Fuck," he looked around the city street. "All right, fuck it, fine, let's fucking set up. Not like the jackass deserves it, but let's do it for Peach."
Neil and his brother grinned at each other, turning to hustle back into The Bear - leaving Sydney and Richie on the street. No words were exchanged, just silent shakes of their heads before they followed the Faks with the intention to help set up for a proposal nobody even knew if would still happen.
The cold night burned Carmy's lungs, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of suffocation he felt earlier when listening to one of your voicemails while trapped.
Your words were sweet as pie, as they usually were; a voicemail left when you were still at work, but feeling so excited to see him that night that you just had to call him. You reminded him of the adoration and love you held for him, relaying how proud you felt - and that you knew Mikey would be, too. You were always doing that, reassuring Carmy; and maybe that's why he felt so freaked out, he wasn't used to it. Even after almost 7 years together, he just wasn't used to what he didn't know he deserved.
Because Carmy didn't think he deserved anything remotely close to love, understanding, compassion, patience, and / or reassurance.
He had sobbed out loud as he locked his phone, not having the heart to delete your message. He often never did - he liked listening to your voice on long, hard nights; it brought him peace when the world felt too loud. He also kept whatever little notes you left for him, even going as far as to get a few of your hand-drawn hearts tattooed on his forearm. One for each anniversary you've shared together. He realized he never wanted to be without you and all his doubts and fear was him projecting his own incompetence towards this relationship; so, he locked his phone, he didn't delete your message.
The moment the fridge door had been opened, Carmy was out of there, shot off like a Roman Candle - your words of love and understanding still ringing in his ears as he was freed. He needed to apologize, and he needed to apologize right fucking now.
The whole run to Danielle's apartment, Carmy wasn't sure what to say to you; mulling over different ideas in his head. He tried to plan his speech, but the only thing he could think of was how much he loved you and that the ring in his pocket weighed a hundred pounds.
He pounded at Danielle's door. Carmy paced slightly as he waited, knocking frantically, and surely waking the neighbors - but that didn't matter. All that mattered was talking to you, something he was desperate to accomplish. When the door opened, your friend offered a stale look and shook her head, "Nope."
"Dani, please," he halted the closing door, "it's all a misunderstanding, I swear to God, please, just - let me try to fix this. Please, okay? I-I need her - I fucking need her and I have to fix this 'cause she's all that matters, okay? So, let me talk to her - please. Please, Danielle!"
"Yeah? The only thing?"
"More than anyone, more than anything - more than The fucking Bear, I swear to fucking God, Danielle! Just - Just one chance, please. I-I don't know how it all got so fucked, but please, I have to try - "
"Whatever you said in that freezer, Carmen, fucking gutted her, you hear me?" Dani stood in her doorway protectively. "Should've had your ass frozen for the hurt you caused her. How the fuck do you intend on making this right? Huh? It's been almost a fucking decade, dude, if you're seriously still afraid of commitment, just fuck off and leave her alone. Let her walk away 'cause I promise, there's a line of dudes who would love to put a ring on her loyal-ass finger - "
"Please, let me fix this," Carmy begged, sounding close to tears. "I need her, Danielle, please."
"It's okay, D," a voice whispered from behind Danielle, and when she turned, you were revealed - jacket and purse in hand, looking completely exhausted, drained, and disheveled. "I'm just tired, Dani, but we have to talk about this... So, I'll go home with him and call you tomorrow, okay?"
"You sure?"
"It's a decent walk, gives us too much time to talk," you shrugged, refusing to meet Carmy's bloodshot eyes. "Thanks for tonight, sorry I was such a mess," you whispered, hugging your best friend since pre-school.
"Girl, don't you ever apologize to me. But hey, look, I don't know, you were just drowning in your tears, like, five minutes ago. Sure you really wanna go? You can stay here as long as you'd like, girl, fuck him."
"Better to work it out now than later, I guess," you whispered, letting her kiss your cheek and see you guys out.
"She calls me cryin', Carmen, I'll kick your ass," She threatened as you moved down the apartment's hall. You might've snickered just a little, but the amusement was wiped clean when you rounded the corner and came up to the elevators.
Now that it was just you two, it was dreadfully awkward.
"Baby - "
"Just - don't talk for right now, Carmen," you sighed, shaking your head. "I'm still digesting all you said."
He frowned when you walked onto the elevator without a single emotion on your face, following you, and when on the ground floor, moved out to head home. It was quiet, it was awkward; only the sounds of traffic filling the space between you as you walked.
"Listen," he started with a long sigh, "you came in at the worst time, Peach, heard some shit you shouldn't have that I-I didn't even mean. I was just," he paused, sighing, "really angry and frustrated, fucking running my mouth 'cause I didn't know what else to do."
"Sounded like I came in at the best time since you're not very forthcoming with emotions. So, hearing your confession put a lot in perspective for me, Carm."
"I was just angry, Peach," he frowned, hands deep in his pockets. "Felt like I was self sabotaging myself, I wasn't sure what else to feel. So, I just lashed out. I didn't mean it, but I just felt like being angry... So fucking angry, baby, I just - I didn't know what else to feel."
"I don't know if I can be with someone like that," you whispered. "Someone who throws our relationship under the bus when he's angry, someone who's first line of defense is apparently to blame the relationship he's been in for over half a decade with the same girl. Someone you've known your whole life..."
"Peach - "
"If it's that easy for you to just disregard us, I don't think we should continue this."
Carmy took a breath and reached out to pull you to a stop. He dug in his pocket for a moment, then showed you the black velvet jewelry box. "I was gonna propose tonight, when everyone was gone," he explained when you took the box to open gingerly. "I think because that was on my mind already, something I was more than nervous to actually do, you're right, it did become my first line of defense to blame us - not just you, baby, but us. You and me... Mostly me, though," he chuckled sadly. "You're this perfect, sweet angel who just loves me out loud when I don't deserve it, and I'm... I'm just me," he sighed, eyes reddening. "And I know I'm never gonna be enough for you, I think I started to get in my head about if you said no. How I missed the call from Terry about the fridge 'cause I was picking out an engagement ring that you didn't even want, that you rejected - rejected me; and in turn, I missed opening night, and it all just - it got to a boiling point. Look, Peach, it's never been a secret that I don't think I deserve you... But I wanted to be the man that could at least give you an honest try of my best. You've stuck by me the past seven years when you should've ran for the hills, and I knew I wanted us for life years ago - but everything was still so up in the air. So confusing. So fucked up. I figured, after opening tonight, if things went t'plan, I could propose - prove to you that we're on our feet and there weren't any rugs to be pulled."
"What if things didn't go to plan?" You whispered.
"We're kinda living it now," he admitted, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "But even if tonight was all a total failure, I know I might've still done it because it's you, Peach. It's you... I've known for years you're who I want, I just never knew how to do this - to move us forward. You're my first relationship, hopefully my only relationship, and I just didn't know how to advance us. I think when things got real for me, my insecurities crept in, and I just reacted - I didn't think."
"We always said when this wasn't healthy or when this wasn't good for us anymore, we'd walk away," you reminded. "That we'd rather be sad or angry about a breakup instead of letting resentment fester from being together."
"It's still good for me, Peach, we're still good," he whispered, stepping closer. "Is it still good for you? Or did I lose you completely tonight?"
"I don't know, Carmy, you've been lashing out a lot lately. At me specifically."
"And with The Bear now open, I-I should be okay. You know? Back to normal?"
You chuckled dryly, "I see, back to your high walls? Emotional constipation?"
"Then maybe not normal," he corrected, "because I just needed to get us here, to tonight, to opening, and then show you that it's over. Show you that part of our lives is over and we only have more adventures to look forward to. Not ones like this, though," he gestured up the street, your eyes cutting over and realizing you were back at The Bear.
"Do you really think you're a psycho?"
He chuckled, "After tonight? Yeah, pretty convinced... Plus, I, uh, I saw in the freezer the way we're labeling things - and got angry about it. Angry about the way we were tearing tape and labeling things. It was so fucking stupid, but I just - I felt so crazy. I still do, I still feel like my head doesn't make sense and I'm a bit, you know... Crazy."
You nodded slowly, "Then how can you promise me this kinda shit won't happen again?"
"I don't think I can, but I can make you the promise that I am working on it; trying to identify when I feel reactive, trying to calm that down. I'm trying, Peach, I really am - it's just... Taking a lot of time," he sighed sadly. "And I know you don't have any more left to give me."
"I've already given you this many years," you reminded softly, "I think I could spare another or two if it meant you getting your shit together, that you get better, stop feeling so crazy."
"I don't deserve anymore time - "
"I think you need to step back and reevaluate what it means to be deserving because you always say that. That you don't deserve something - even as simple as time. Everyone deserves time and opportunity to figure shit out, Carmy, and you're no exception."
He nodded, "I'm... Trying." He took a long, deep breath, "I'm, uh... Going to meetings, you know, like, uh, Al-Anon and whatever."
"That's good, they're there to help," you nodded, stepping closer to take his hands in yours after closing the ring box and stuffing it back in his pocket. "Now, I think you need to do something."
"Anything, Peach."
"Take my hand, bring me back to The Bear, and go about your plan."
He froze in shock, blinking at you in earnest, "You really mean that?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"No, ma'am, and I think that scares me more."
"You'd rather break up? 'Cause at this point, Carm, we either move forward with this engagement and fucking work our shit out, or we break up. It's been almost a decade. It's your choice, you're the one who was saying he couldn't be someone's husband, that he didn't need to provide anyone nor have them provide you with anything. So, you tell me what you want to do - because all I know is that I love you, I want you for life, but not if you're going to resent me and regret moving our relationship forward. I don't need to get married, Carmy, but you can't keep jerking me around like you have been. So... Make a decision based on what you want - based on what's best for you. Not what's best for us, but put yourself first right now, Carmy, and make a decision about what you want."
With a nod of his head, Carmy cleared his throat and offered you his hand. When he felt you lock your fingers with his, he glanced up and down the street, then lead you across it. Up the sidewalk and to the front door of The illuminating Bear, he paused to produce his keys and then lead you inside.
The lights were dim, but a flip of the switch brightly lit up the newly constructed restaurant. He seemed nervous at your cool demeanor, watching you shed your coat and set your purse down; but his hand took yours again and lead you further into the place. He seemed nervous, but once in the kitchen, it was almost like Carmy's stress melted away.
"I was... I had this plan," he explained softly, leaning on one of the work stations with both hands in yours to keep you in front of him. "I have all these candles, right? Was gonna distract you in here," he looked around the fluorescent lighting, "while Richie, Fak, Tina, and the others set everything up. We'd hang in here after the place was closed down, you know, show you around the completed kitchen. And really casually, I'd ask if you were ready to go, so, we'd go out the front, and we'd walk right into the candlelight..."
"Yeah?" He nodded, thumbs running over your hands as he pushed off the counter. "Don't deviate from your plan now..."
Carmy smirked, "Wanna hear the boring kitchen stuff?"
"Of course, I do."
So, he lead you around in a tour of the kitchen; showing off the new office space that he invited you to take advantage of whenever you wanted. The sleek appliances were shown off, the vast fridges, freezers, new cutlery, state-of-the-art dishwashers. Everything, he showed you, knowing you helped him pick a lot of it out - it was still nice to see it all come together finally.
And then, slowly, he lead you out of the kitchen, but to your honest shock, the dining room was covered in lit candles and different bouquets of thick, gorgeous floral arrangements. "Oh, holy shit," you breathed, Carmy hiding his confusion much better than you.
You came to a slow halt in the middle of the room, the lights out and only leaving the candles to provide an ambiance. "I had this whole speech planned, too," Carmy told you softly. "Remind you of the day we met, how you saved me from those jackass bullies - remember?"
You smiled softly, emotions swirling in your chest, "First day of first grade, you had a Buzz Lightyear backpack and some kids were picking on you 'cause of it."
"And what did you do?"
You felt bashful remembering, but humored him by answering, "Pushed their faces in the mud at recess and made them apologize."
"You've been my best friend since that day," he nodded, bringing you in a few steps closer. "And when we got to high school, my feelings changed. You weren't just my best friend, but the girl I was madly in love with... Took me a couple years to buck up the courage to ask you out officially, though."
"Sure took your sweet time," you whispered with a smile, "but all good things to those who wait, right?"
"And I think you've waited long enough for a man to be who you deserve," he frowned. "All these years - it's been you at my side. You even - fuck - you even came over to Amsterdam for a bit because I was feeling overwhelmed and lonely. Sad, maybe even a little homesick. But you just - you just showed up like it was the most common thing in the world."
You chuckled through your tears, "Yeah, we had some good times on that boat, didn't we?"
He nodded with a softening smile, pushing hair from your face and behind your ear; pausing to hold your cheek carefully. "And when we came back stateside... You were still the only constant presence in my life. You were my family without blood, and I knew after that Christmas that you'd forever be my other half, and I'd spend my life conveying how grateful I am for you. I just - I never knew how to put it into words until now."
"What changed?"
"Realizing that I wanted to marry you years ago - and I should've. I know I shouldn't have drug my feet with us, delay our inevitable, because honestly? I couldn't see my life without you in it and I knew I needed you with me forever. Peach," he frowned, reaching for your other cheek, "we agreed when this wasn't healthy, we'd walk away - I remember that. But I need you to know, I'll never fucking regret you. I'll never resent you. You've been unwaveringly supportive and loving and... And I've been the luckiest man to experience it all. But now," he pushed himself a step closer so he was hovered over your lips, "I know that you deserve someone just as present in this relationship as you are. I knew once The Bear was done, I was done - I was done beating this bush around and wasting time. I knew what I needed to do because the idea of you not being in my life anymore terrifies me more than anything. I don't remember life without you, Peach, and I don't ever want to know what it's like. So," he cleared his throat, "here, in the restaurant I so desperately wanted to give up on so many times, but you always stopped me, I wanted to make this official. I wanted it to be here to show you that the past year of our turmoil - it's fucking over, Peach. We did it," he whispered, "and now, the next and only thing I want to focus on is us."
Carmy readjusted you both for a little bit of space, holding your left hand tightly as he lowered himself to a single knee; looking up at you with those big, wide, sad blue eyes that were growing redder by the passing second. The candlelight created a romantic atmosphere that cocooned you both in a warm embrace, the flowers around you projecting their floral scent.
"So, I need to ask you something real important, baby," he whispered, his throat bobbing to restrain his emotion that clawed up his throat, "because if I don't, I don't think I could breathe again." He cleared his throat, pulling the ring box from his pocket and opening it to present to you officially. "Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N... My sweetest Peach, I've loved you almost my entire life, you're my best friend, my most loyal and sweetest confidant. You make me want to be a man better than I was yesterday and never before have I ever seriously considered marriage - until you. Now? Now, I can't get the idea out of my head, so, my sweet girl," he took another breath, the tears in his eyes swelling and slowly dripping down his cheeks as you slowly got on your knees in front of him, "I need to ask you... W-Would you do me the honor? Of being my wife?"
"Carmen."
He grinned at you, both with tears down your cheeks. "Will you marry me, Y/N? I can't see my life without you in it, so... I want this, I want you for life. Y/N, will you marry me?" He paused, adding a meek little, "Please?" at the end.
With a deep breath, you slowly reached for his cheeks in a soft caress to wipe his tears; both just staring at one another for a good few moments before a face-splitting grin nearly cracked your lips. "Yes," you finally answered, "yeah, yes, yes, of course, I'll marry you, Carmen, yes!"
"Oh, thank fuckin' God," he laughed, letting you lunge forward to knock him backward in a hug - missing the candles arranged in a small circle for you two to stand in. Carmy laughed loudly, happily, giving you a tight squeeze as he mused, "Had my heart beatin' outta my chest for a second there, Peach."
"Oh, please," you laughed, "after all this time, you really thought I'd say no?"
He shrugged meekly, "Thought my most recent fuck-ups would've added to any reasons you might have to say no."
"Oh, spare me - you're my best friend, Carmy, you know I couldn't ever say no to you. Not without puking in nervousness."
"Can we maybe not talk about puke when we just got engaged?"
You laughed and nodded, "Fine, fine, fine, then put the ring on, please."
You presented your left manicured hand, watching Carmy almost giddily removed the band from the box, took a slow, deep breath, and then, the most beautiful ring was being slid onto your finger in an official show of your engagement. Of your undying love. Of your commitment, promises, and future together.
"YEAH!" An array of varying cheers and hollers of support and excitement rang out around you; startling both you and Carmy to look up. Richie, Sydney, Tina, Neil, Theo, Pete, and Sugar all hung in the bathroom's alcove - watching with splitting grins and cheering in celebration.
There was no time to question them as Richie lead the charge over; helping you to your feet for a giant, bear hug before gushing over your engagement ring. Neil and Theo popped one of the authentic bottles of champagne, pouring different flutes for those present.
"Calm down," Natalie scolded Richie lightly, "and move out the way, I want to hug my engaged bestie!"
You squealed with Sugar when her arms wrapped around you tightly, Rich moving on to congratulate Carmy - who apologized for his angry words earlier and thanked them for still setting things up. Richie promised it was for you, not Carmy, but still hugged the little shit with a laugh - indicating he was just joking.
"Let me see!" Natalie grinned, examining the ring Carmy chose and squealing again. "Oh, my God! Oh, it's so pretty! Oh, shit - sisters!" She gasped, holding your hands tightly, "We're going to be sisters - like, officially!"
"Sisters in law, but yeah, cupcake," you beamed at her, wiping your tears and giggling. "I can't - this just doesn't feel real," you told her softly, looking the few feet over to see Carmy with the lads as Sydney stood with you and Sugar. "Him proposing? I genuinely thought it wouldn't happen," you tried to laugh your nerves off, looking at your ring and fiddling with it.
"Yeah, right," Sydney laughed. "I haven't been around that long and even I knew this was gonna happen."
"Oh, please, she's right," Natalie grinned when you went to retaliate, "he first started talking about how he wanted to marry you when he was, like, 15. This has been the longest thing coming."
"Thank you guys for helping," you whispered with a smile. "It's all so beautiful."
"Happy to help for a good cause," Syd smiled, complimenting your ring as Neil called for a toast. Everyone was given flutes of champagne, Carmy's arm wrapping around your waist as each friend gave their own little speech, congratulating you both before the alcohol was being drained.
"Uh, and where are you two going?" Sugar asked about an hour later with a small giggle when Carmy wrapped an arm around your neck after helping you into your coat again.
"Gotta celebrate alone with my fiancé," he smirked, "later, guys! Don't forget to lock up!"
"Carmen!" You scolded with a small laugh, gaping at him.
"What? They got this," Carmy chuckled. "Thanks, you guys, see you tomorrow!"
"We can help clean," you told him as he lead you out of the restaurant.
"Nah, we've got bigger plans," he smirked at you. "Got plenty t'celebrate, yeah? Ever fucked as fiancés before?"
"No - but I hear it's some crazy sex," you whispered, locking your arms around his waist to stay close. Neither of you cared about the bus at this hour, opting to walk home in the cold - not that you felt it. Your love burned brighter than the cold biting your skin.
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requesting rules and masterlist
The Bear masterlist
1K notes · View notes
kenjakusbraincum · 1 year ago
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Hi, i can’t help but request this because you write so beautifully.
So I just had the idea of a former ballerina being sacrificed to Sukuna. She does her work good and gracefully but she longs for old times where she was able to dance and feel like she’s flying again. So she does it in the evening in Sukunas garden. He of course notices and as culture lover he is he makes her his personal dancer. And a cute lil love story forms from this scenario.
I would be so thankful if you form this to a proper story because i don’t have enough imagination. Love your work
Thank you for the compliment! I apologize in advance for my butchered descriptions of dance scenes and hope you like what I came up with anyways <3
Swan Lake
Sukuna x Reader
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Word count: 6.3k
Tags/warnings: gn! reader but the words maid, whore and bitch are used, true form! sukuna, bullying, fluff with a very brief and soft smut scene at the end!
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Sukuna doesn't care where his servants come from. People get offered to him all the time, and he takes them when he feels his palace is understaffed. And that happens quite often, considering how eagerly Sukuna gets rid of his servants for the smallest inconveniences. His staff is disposable to him, having no value beyond the services they provide him with.
So he doesn't know about your past. He doesn't know you were once an esteemed entertainer. He doesn't know that you were touring the world, sharing your art with audiences of all different classes and ranks in society. He doesn't know you were once the star of the stage, hypnotizing people with the fluidity of your movements in rhythm with the music. He doesn't know you were snatched from fame, taken against your will and brought to him to pay your capturer's debt. You're not sure he's even properly looked at you, much less heard your capturer tell him who you are. You were that worthless to him.
Now you are but a maid. You spend your days on your knees, mopping blood soaked floors. At night, you share chambers with dozens of other servants. Privacy is a foreign concept in Sukuna's palace. You are not entitled to it even in the bathroom. Everything is shared for the servants. There's no space for you to even try to indulge in your beloved profession, even as a hobby. Except...
The garden. Most servants are in bed, prepared to sleep, but your eyes linger on the windows. In every way, going to the garden would be to your own detriment. Losing sleep was dangerous, it could lead to getting caught slacking off, or being ratted out about it. And the consequences for that... well. One could only imagine it wouldn't be a simple slap on the wrist.
Still, you longed for this. The work you did during the day drained you, it was repetitive and soulless. You weren't made to clean floors. You were made to dance, it was your destiny. Since childhood, you don't remember a period of time as long as this one, where you haven't had the opportunity to enjoy your passion. Tears stung your eyes as this revelation found you. Every day, you could feel your life slipping through your fingers. You were alive, but your energy, your liveliness, your personality, all of it was dissipating in the pools of blood you were forced to clean.
''Can you be quiet? Some of us are trying to sleep.'', a servant who sleeps in the bed next to yours snaps you out of your thoughts. You are sobbing. You apologize quickly, and snuggle in bed, trying to muffle the noises against your deflated pillow.
But sleep just doesn't take you that night. You grow more and more frustrated, as time passes and you toss and turn in bed. Eyes wide open, fixed to the window across you. The garden lures you, calls for you. Damn it. You have to try. This is not much of a life anyways, you think. Sooner or later Sukuna or Uraume would find faults in what you're doing anyways, and you'd be served for dinner. You don't exactly have a lot to lose.
Sneaking out of the chambers is easy. You spent your whole life on your tippy toes. No one moves in their sleep as you cross the room, open the door and slide through the crack. Quietly, you make your way around the mansion. Outside, you're greeted by a light summer breeze. The garden is eerily peaceful, lit by the moonlight in this late hour.
You start to warm up, hopping, circling your neck, swinging your legs. Feeling the stretches in muscles you forgot you had. The grass tickles your legs as you splay across the ground and reach for your feet. Then stand and shift your weight to your toes, feeling out how rusty you've gotten in the time you've missed out on practicing. It's not too bad.
So you start out slow. The music plays in your head and you mouth silently, counting the rhythm. Your eyes are glued to the ground, you're trying not to trip and fall on the uneven surface. Your movement feels as smooth as it did before, but you can't see yourself in the mirror to check your form. You close your eyes, surrendering to the cadence of your motions. The music carries you, and as you turn into a poised second arabesque, time seems to slow. It's only a moment, but when you turn back to continue...
Slam. So hard you start to fall back, but his arms catch you around the waist. If you weren't scared out of your mind you would've wondered how did he even show up there without you noticing. But of course, he's Sukuna. You look at him with eyes so wide you think they may fall out, and he stares back with an amused smirk. Then he bites the air in front of you, clanking his sharp teeth together, and you scream in response. His hand flies to your mouth in an instant and he shuts you up.
"Quiet now. You wouldn't want to wake your colleagues up, would you?", he tilts his head, observing your terrified expression. "Or do you want everyone to slack off with you tomorrow?"
"I-I won't slack off I promise!!!", you panic, hands shaking as you bring them up in a defensive stance. Tears pool in your eyes as you stare death in the face. He is... weirdly beautiful, lit by the moonlight. And he holds you sturdily, but gently. It doesn't hurt. And he doesn't seem particularly mad.
"Is that so?", he asks. There's a smile on his face, but it feels dangerous, threatening. Like everything else about him. "Then just what do you think you're doing outside at this hour?"
"I was- I was dancing -", you stutter, struggling to form coherent sentences. Why are you so close to him? You're pulled flush against him. You can almost feel his -
"I didn't know I had a dancer in my ranks. Why didn't you say so?", he says, and surprisingly lets go of you.
You're so sure he's playing with his food. You're so sure he's going to slice you into pieces. You've already crossed so many lines, broken so many rules. You look to the ground, only now remembering eye contact with him was strictly forbidden.
"Speak.", he growls, audibly irritated by your refusal to reply.
You didn't think he was genuinely asking. What the hell are you supposed to say? Why didn't you say so? Maybe because you wanted to see the light of day again? "I ... A lowlife such as myself has no place speaking to your Highness.", you duck your head low in an apologetic manner. And he seems satisfied, smiling playfully again. Except you don't see it, you feel it. Sukuna's presence pulls the most demeaning, self-depricating things out of people's mouths.
"Humble.", he comments and walks a couple steps around you. He's huge. "Go on then, dance for me."
You stand frozen. It's not that you're ashamed... you've performed for audiences bigger than you ever could've imagined. But the weight of his stare is harder to bear than that of hundreds. And the stakes are higher than ever. He has to like it, or else...
"Dance!", he orders sternly, and crosses his arms over his chest. So you give it your all. Remembering where he interrupted you, you get back into position and start. Dance. Your life depends on it, doesn't it? Well if there's one thing you can do to save your life it should be this.
But it's not like before. Fear seeps into every muscle in your body, and your movements are unsure. Every jump is fleeting, every landing shaky. Tears blur your vision, and it's so hard to keep your breathing steady when you're struggling not to cry. But you're a ballet dancer, you were trained to endure. You finish the variation, cross your legs and gracefully bow.
Sukuna watches intently with narrowed eyes, like a predator stalking his prey. You can't see the sly smile on his face, but you can feel it.
"I apologize, your Highness.", your voice trembles. "It wasn't my best."
Sukuna huffs in amusement and waves his hand dismissively. "Go to sleep.", he orders.
You bow before him again, and quickly turn back towards the mansion. You don't feel relief from his piercing stare until you disappear behind a corner in the hallway.
You can't shake the feeling when you're back in your bed, snuggled in the sheets up to your eyes. You just survived a close encounter with Sukuna. And he must've liked what he saw at least a little bit, if you're still alive.
The next morning, you wake up and start getting ready for work with the other servants. The bathroom is busy, and as there's little else to do in the servant circles, gossiping starts immediately.
"Did you hear the scream last night?", the servant taking up the sink next to yours says, tapping foundation into her skin.
"Screams come from Sukuna's chambers all the time. It must be a new pet getting used to him.", another one replies. You shiver.
"Everyone knows how that sounds. This was different!", the two maids exchange a look.
The second rolls her eyes. "So, he killed someone. Nothing new.", she shakes her head.
"No. Uraume would've called someone to clean it up immediately.", the first servant continues. You really, really wish they would just drop it, until... "Hey you.", she turns to you. "Your bed was empty last night, did you hear anything?"
Your blood runs cold. "I was... feeling sick. And went to the bathroom.", you say quickly. "I probably couldn't hear... over the sound of throwing up."
"Hm.", both of them look at you now. "Well you look sick too.", one of them says. "Be careful with work today.", then they finish up and leave. You breathe a sigh of relief and finish up getting ready.
The next few days pass spotlessly. You don't cross paths with Sukuna. But some nights, you feel his presence in the garden. You stretch and practice simple movements in the bathroom, when no one's around. And the variations, you save them for the garden. At night. The only time you feel alive, the only time you feel like yourself. Human. Free. You think you might just get away with no one knowing, but then...
He walks past you and another maid while you're scrubbing the floors in the hallway. Both of you freeze as he passes by, assuming a submissive position and greeting him. You pray he won't notice, pray he won't know you by your voice, but he stops. Right by you, and then there's a moment of silence. He lifts his foot, touching your chin, and nudges you to look at him.
"Oh.", you watch his stern expression soften. "It's a shame for a talent like yourself to waste away on their knees.", he says. You look to the servant next to you, and she mouths a silent 'what?' as she turns her head in your direction.
You swallow your shame. It's not the first time you had to in front of Sukuna. "Its an honor to serve you, your Highness, even if it's on my knees.", you say.
Sukuna hums. "What a good servant you are.", an amused smile graces his face once again. "Well, get to rubbing then.", he nudges your face back downwards with his foot, and walks away.
You and the servants keep rubbing intensively, until he's out of sight and a couple minutes have passed. Then she grabs you by your shoulders and gives you a look that is both terrified and angry. "You did what with Sukuna?", she asks.
You frown, offended. Why does everyone in this mansion immediately think of that? "He knows I'm a dancer.", you say simply and look back to the floor, rage brewing in your chest.
"When did you do it. Was it you screaming? Oh my god it was!", the revelation hits the servant and she puts her hands on her cheeks, looking at you in shock.
"It wasn't me!!", you lie, agitation showing in your voice.
"Does he really have two dicks?", she asks.
You drain the washing rug and smack her in the face with it. "You disgusting pervert, how dare you ask that about your master!"
"You hit me! Whore!", she smacks you back, but harder, and her rag is full of dirty water.
"I'm not a whore!!", you cry, and wipe your face with your dirty, wet hands.
"Dancer. Yeah right, I can only imagine!", she throws the wet rag on you, and it sits on your lap, soaking you in the nasty liquid. "And you're a liar too! How shameless!"
"What is this commotion about?", a voice calls from the back of the hallway, and you turn around with teary eyes. Uraume looks like a blob of white in your vision, nonetheless they're recognizable.
"Tell them! You hit me, you little bitch!", the servant slaps your shoulder. You don't have it in you to fight back. The injustice pains your heart, and you can't bear the embarrassment.
Uraume smirks, noting your disheveled appearance. Your whole uniform is soaked now, even your hair. There's a pool of water forming around you as the liquid seeps out of the rags. "Clean this mess immediately. Master will be notified of this issue.", they say, and walk past the two of you.
The servant looks at you with contempt burning in her eyes. Then spits in front of you. "Clean.", she says, takes the rag you hit her with and starts cleaning.
Sukuna sees you that evening. He sits on his throne, head in his hand, and looks down on you and the other servant. He hides his inner smile, the joy he takes in executing power over others. And it's you again. He asks what this is about, and the servant wastes no time pointing her finger at you, saying you hit her first.
Sukuna's critical stare turns to you. ''Is that true?'', he asks, scanning you from head to toe, noting the state you're in. He's not particularly happy to see you like that.
You timidly nod, admitting your fault in the situation. Your stare is fixed to the ground, where dirty water drips down from your soaked clothes. You smell, and look like a rat, all of that in front of Sukuna. You wish the ground would swallow you whole and spare you this humiliation.
But he knows you. You've captivated him. Otherwise he wouldn't have cared to ask if you have anything to say in your defense. You tell him, omitting the details of her perverse question, you simply say she was slandering his holy name.
Sukuna moves, leaning his elbows on his knees. You care about his name? How lovely. So what is this slanderous thing his servants fought about?
Silence. You and the servant exchange uncomfortable looks. If there was one thing the both of you could agree on for the day, it was that repeating it in front of him was too vulgar. With that, Sukuna quickly grows bored with the situation. When he raises his hand, both of you flinch, expecting immediate punishment. However, nothing happens when he flicks his fingers. You're dismissed.
Quickly, both of you scurry away, leaving the throne room and going back to your jobs. The rest of the day is harrowing. The rumor spreads among the servants quickly, and you are the butt of every joke. You hear whispering and giggling behind your back, and everyone's stares linger on you as you go about your day. The culmination happens next morning, when the servants are getting ready in the bathroom, and the insults start getting more direct.
''Show us how you dance for Sukuna, why don't you?''
''Did you take both at the same time?''
''He didn't like you very much if you're still working as a servant.''
And then everyone goes quiet. When you turn around, you see Uraume at the door, their eyes fixed on you. ''Come.'', they say quietly, and leave without waiting for you to catch up. Well, it seems your punishment is due. You gladly leave the bathroom and follow them down the hall, anything is better than spending another second with the other servants. But now that you think of it, where is the servant that shares your punishment? Have you even seen her this morning? Or after the meeting with Sukuna at all?
You turn a couple corners, and stop at the end of the hallway. Uraume opens the doors to a room, and ushers you inside. What is this? It's furnished. Modestly, but... You open your mouth to ask a question, but you're quickly cut off.
''Make yourself at home.'', they say, and turn their attention to you.
''What about my things?'', you ask, looking around the room, then back to Uraume.
''You won't need them. Do you have good table manners?''
''Uhh.. yeah... I think.''
''Great. You dine with Master Sukuna tonight.''
''Huh!?''
''Your outfit is on the bed, be ready by sunset. I'll come to pick you up.''
Then the door closes and you're left alone in your new room. This isn't what a punishment should look like. Not when a beautiful kimono waits on your bed. Not when there's a barre fixed onto a mirrored wall, and there's a box on the ground, and when you open it, you find pointe shoes. Multiple pairs. He didn't know what size to get you. Ribbons, a sewing kit, glue, scissors... everything you need to break them in. Under that, a simple black leotard and a wrap skirt. By all means... this looks more like a reward.
You try everything on, find the perfect pair of shoes, and test them. It's not a big room, but there's enough space for you to practice with the bar. For the first time in so long, time passes quick. You're doing something you enjoy. It feels like in a blink of an eye, your shadow gets long on the wall opposing the window, and you have to get ready for dinner. You put the kimono on to the best of your ability - you don't have the opportunity to wear it often as a servant, being usually restrained in a uniform. And then reality hits you. Sukuna wants to have you over for dinner. This... is this a date? Unless he was planning to eat you, but you suppose he wouldn't have bought you shoes and furnished a room specially for you if that was the case... Come to think of it, what are you eating tonight?
Uraume knocks on the door, and takes a long look at you when you open. They fix your collar and nod, taking off down the hallway and expecting you to follow. They lead you to the dining room, vast and expensively furnished. You hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears. You only let your eyes explore for a second, before you fix them back to the ground and lower your head in Sukuna's presence.
''Your Highness.'', you bow in his direction.
''Master from now on.'', he says, and stands up to greet you. Master. You've only heard Uraume, and occasionally his pets, when he'd walk by with them, call him this by this... less formal title. He towers over you as his hand touches your shoulder, urging you to turn around. You follow obediently, making a circle and displaying your outfit.
He hums in approval. "Suits you much better than a cleaning uniform.", he says, and pulls your chair out for you to sit. You mutter a quiet thank you and sit down, already overwhelmed by the interaction.
He sits on the other side of the table, facing you. You can't bear the intense eye contact, and the silence that spreads across the room. Your eyes are fixed to your hands in your lap. ''Don't be shy now. I didn't invite you to sit there and be quiet. I reserve such duties for my pets.'', he breaks the silence.
''Master. Sharing a meal with you is a privilege, and I want to thank you for that. I'm not sure I'm deserving of it, though, and how my company may be of use to you.''. The kitchen servants scatter around the table, bringing food and pouring drinks. Various appetizers decorate the table, and only now do you notice you're hungry. You shyly pick the foods that catch your eye the most.
And your humility draws out a smile from him. ''You are an artist. And I am a man who takes great joy in consuming art.'', he says, and taps his finger against his glass, watching you pick. He's getting to know you, through your taste in food.
''I didn't know that about you.'', you say and look to your plate. You feel your hand shaking as you reach for the cutlery. You know Sukuna is judging every move. He was in your territory when you were dancing, now you're on his. And he will recognize the smallest mistake.
''Oh.'', his tone changes. It sounds like he didn't particularly like that comment. He finishes chewing. ''Did you take me for a savage?'', he narrows his eyes. More food is brought to the table, plates come and go quickly as the conversation progresses, and the tension grows.
You stutter, reading his volatile mood. ''I've only heard rumors.''.
He huffs in amusement again. ''I've heard rumors about you too.'', he says, leaning into the table. ''To be fair, I was asking around.''. So he took interest in you. ''They say you were the best there was, until you got captured.''
You chew slowly, taking his story in. He continues. ''They asked about you. Asked if I knew where you are. I said no.''. Sukuna watches as you grow visibly distressed by the mentions of your team. ''The best there is? What a wonderful prize. I'd rather keep you to myself.''. Oh. So that's what this is about. He gets off on the thought of owning you, the best there is, just for himself. You curse whoever told him about you. ''You showed me your worst, and mesmerized me. I want you to show me your best. Dance for me. Convince me you're worth my patronage.''.
The servants bring the main dish, and your head droops, stare fixed into the finely decorated red meat. You touch it with your cutlery, feeling it's texture. Sukuna eyes you as you cut a slice and bring it to your mouth, expectantly waiting for your reaction. You chew slowly, savoring the taste, but your expression is puzzled. ''What is this?'', you ask. And to make sure it doesn't sound like you're unhappy, you cut another slice. Truthfully, the food is incredible, but... you can't quite place the meat.
Sukuna bares his sharp teeth in a grin. ''Veal.''.
The conversation steers into a different direction then, and you quickly forget about how powerless you felt just moments ago. Sukuna is nothing like you've imagined him. He's right, you did take him for a savage. After all, everything you've heard about him pointed to a monster, who only took pleasure in wreaking havoc and destruction. Now, you find him to be eloquent, knowledgeable, and quite sophisticated. In a way, he appears similar to the other people you've met through your job. But way more powerful, and with it, way more intriguing.
Once again, time passes quickly, slipping through your fingers. The dinner is over, and you're facing Sukuna at the door. He seems to be pleased with your company, if you can read his face at all. ''Should I consider my offer accepted?'', he inquires. ''Everything will be provided for you. You just have to dance.''.
Well, it doesn't sound half bad, does it? You're not sure if the terms of the offers convinced you, or his presentation during the dinner. It might just be him. He made you feel you wouldn't be a jester, but a respected entertainer. And not for just anyone, but for a man as thoughtful and cultured as Sukuna proved himself to be. ''For you, gladly. Master.'', you smile at him. And he smiles back, taking your small hand into his, and planting a soft kiss to your fingers. You bow to him, wish him a good night, and you part ways.
Later, in your new bed, you find yourself replaying the interaction. Tracing his features in your memory. It's the first time you've had the chance to observe him, without fear of consequences. And he was beautiful. So elegant in the way he dressed and carried himself. Like a true king.
From then on, life in Sukuna's mansion is a game. Sukuna courts you in his dining room, feeding you delicacies from all around the world Foods that are hard and expensive to come by, that you've never heard of before. He courts you with the things he allows you to do, and the gifts he gives you. You dance and eat and walk around his garden and library. You don't dine with him every night, but when you do, rest assured that a new outfit is waiting for you in your room when you get back from practice.
And you court him on the floor, with feathery leaps that leave him on the edge of his seat, and dizzying turns that force him to focus all four eyes on you. You court him when you finish the variation by bowing before him, on one knee, a breath away from where he's sitting. And when you look up at him, he sees a lover rather than a personal dancer. Even though he's never touched you, or pressed his lips to yours.
There is love in the foods he picks for you specifically to enjoy, and there is love in the way you let him watch you practice. Even if you mess up, misstep and fall out of rhythm. Even if you stumble and fall in the most unceremonious of ways. There is vulnerability in letting him see you fail. It only happens a handful of times, but when you slip before him, you feel more naked than you would ever feel with your clothes off. And the relationship that the two of you foster grows intimate, despite the formal distance you keep from each other.
And that distance closes in, one day when Sukuna is there during a particularly nasty fall. You yelp when you hit the ground, and reach for your ankle, checking for injury. You only notice Sukuna when you feel his hand on your shoulder, and his brows furrowed in worry as his head looms over you. Your eyes meet for a moment, and you're hypnotized. Then you look away quickly, feeling your face heat up from the closeness.
''It's nothing.'', you say, and look down.
''Sure?'', Sukuna asks and stands up. You nod, and he offers you a pair of his hands, to help you stand. You take them, and he hoists you up effortlessly. And now you're face to face with his chest, and you're still holding his hands... ''That should to for today.'', he says, and when you look at him, there's a tender smile on his face. It sounds like a suggestion, but you've learned Sukuna is subtle about giving you orders. You nod, dust yourself off and untie your shoes.
That night, you recall his touch on your skin. Long fingernails ghosting over your shoulder, sending shivers through your whole body. You never expected Sukuna to have it in him to be gentle. But, that wouldn't be the first time he's broken the mold you thought he fit. And now in the cold of night, you find yourself craving him.
The next time you're invited to dinner, the tension is almost unbearable. ''Aren't you a sight to behold?'', he tells you when he welcomes you into the room. He always gives you compliments, but tonight they weigh heavy on your heart. You look across the table and curse every plate and glass that stands between the two of you. You look at him with quiet longing, and you think he knows. Because his smile is victorious, almost teasing. And when you accidentally hit his leg under the table, you start to credit it less to his size, and more to him deliberately crossing into your space. Subtlety is not a word you ever thought you'd attribute to Sukuna, but it seems this is the way you've established communication. You resist the instinct to remove your leg apologetically. So they stay touching.
Unfortunately, this little interaction slowly turns your brain into mush. By the last bite, your hand is trembling and you know you don't have the precision to pick up the last piece of food with your chopsticks. So you leave it on the plate, and wait for a moment when Sukuna is at least a little bit distracted, to attempt eating it again.
But such a thing doesn't happen. Today, he looks at you like you're the food on his plate. "Come on, eat it.", he nods in your direction. You can't read his expression, but it seems benevolent.
"I'm so full.", you make up an excuse.
"Just one strip.", he nudges your leg under the table, and you flinch, cheeks heating up.
"I.. I think I'll combust.", lies.
"I'll be offended.", Sukuna plays along with your game.
"Ah...", he wins, and you pick up your chopsticks with shaky hands. But as hard as you try, the little piece of food keeps escaping you, traveling through the plate.
"What makes you so flustered today?", he asks. "Is it the leg?". You blink at the plate, and feel your face going as red as the wine in your glass. "Come.", he waves his finger at you. You lean into the table, used to following his commands. And in no time, he is looming over your plate, one hand picking the last piece of your food with his chopsticks, and the other gently taking hold of your chin, nudging your mouth open. You part your lips obediently, and he places the bit onto your tongue, never breaking eye contact. His face is mere centimeters away from yours, observing you as you chew.
And the moment you've swallowed, and opened your mouth for air, he seizes you in a kiss. Slow, as he tastes your lips, and lets you adjust and catch up with him. He feels you go tense with the initial shock, then relax in his hold and kiss him back. His tongue brushes past your lips, and you think you'll sink right through your chair, and into the earth beneath the floor. The taste, the smell of him, so expensive and intoxicating. If this moment could last forever -
Foolish you. So much stress and tension, and you barely notice how quickly it passes. , how quickly his lips leave yours. His eyes scan your face, making sure you're alright, and then he's back in his chair. "There.", he says, "Have something to be flustered about."
That night, you think about his lips, slipping away from yours and moving to your neck, collarbones, shoulders. Not stopping until they've explored your whole body and touched your soul.
In the meantime, you practice your chosen choreography to perfection. And when you're standing in his throne room and awaiting the music, and your deciding performance to start, it's the first time in a while that you recognize feeling nervous. Uraume is there too, and his other disciples and guests. But he is the only one that matters. The only one your life depends on. Although the times when your life was truly on the line are long gone, Sukuna is still your patron, and now it's your turn to either satisfy or disappoint him.
The music starts, and the nervousness wanes as you start dancing. Sukuna's gaze is heavy, critical. He's seen you do this times and times already, but now it's final. Now, he's telling you, ''Bewitch me.''. Now, you're joining it together, one seamless show just for his enjoyment. And with every spin, you keep your eyes fixed on him. Enticing him with your movement, seducing him.
And for once, time passes quick for Sukuna as well. He finds himself lost in your dance. In your quick glances, in the way your body moves, contorts, withstands your weight on your tippy toes with so much grace and fluidity. You make it look easy. You nail the landing you failed so many times before his very eyes, perfectly, effortlessly. He almost wonders if you fell intentionally when he was watching you. And he's captivated. By the end of your performance, you earn his smile. You earn the clap of his hands, you even earn his standing ovation. The king himself, honoring you with the highest form of praise.
''It takes quite a performer, to entertain a crowd all by oneself.'', he comments later, over dinner. ''You've convinced me. You're worth keeping.''
''And when I can't dance anymore?'', you ask.
''You'll still be able to eat with me.'', he says.
At the doors, he bends down to kiss you again. You anticipate it, and accept it, kneading your hands through his hair. He asks if you're tired, and you shake your head no. He asks if you want to come with him. Yes, please yes, you've wanted to for so long. You almost thought he'd never ask. Again, his face lights up in a victorious smile.
He walks you through the halls, to his quarters of the mansion. Vast, and decorated with various works of art. They hang on the wall, or stand on the cupboards in forms of statues of various sizes. Sukuna likes to collect things, if that wasn't evident by your presence in the mansion.
''You're dragging behind. Did you have a change of heart?'', he asks, and extends his hand towards you. You step closer, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. You're standing at the doors of his bedroom.
''I was just admiring the interior.'', you smile at him, and take it upon yourself to cross the doorstep. His bedroom overlooks the garden, through a tall set of windows, little plants sitting on his windowsill. And his bed is massive. You think it could fit four people of your size. But then again, Sukuna is not a normal sized person. Your hand finds the mattress, testing it's sturdiness. And when you turn around, he's right behind you. Towering over you, and forcing you to look up at him, like the king he is. But you're not scared. You have no reason to be.
''Lay down.'', he orders, but his voice doesn't sound stern. Still, you obey, climbing into the bed. And he follows, letting you ease into the pillows only for a moment, before he settles above you, urging your legs apart. You welcome him, finally feeling the closeness you've been craving for so long. His body, big enough to enclose you completely under him, so carefully pressed against yours. Light enough not to hurt, but heavy enough to establish power. To give you what you want, what you've craved for a very long time.
He never lets you forget whose grasp you're in. He folds your smaller body with ease, adjusting you to his liking. And you let him, trusting him with your body and pleasure. He takes you gently, slowly, making sure you're comfortable in the process. You feel so full of him, but it's not enough, not enough until all of your senses are overwhelmed with him. You feel up his muscled arms and back, wrap around him, pull him closer with every stroke, every swipe of his lips against yours. Sukuna draws the moans out of you with practiced thrust of his hips, hitting spots inside you you didn't know existed. In no time you're seeing stars - his four eyes, never leaving yours as you come apart.
And Sukuna is stoic for the most part, but by the end of it, even he is loosing his composure. Hungry moans slip past his lips, his brows furrowing as he concentrates, trying not to let out too soon. You encourage him, babbling sweet nonsense into his ear. This flustered Sukuna, completely engulfed in the chase of his own pleasure, is as close as you've come to seeing a god. Moments later, his hips still, and you feel his muscles tense as he reaches completion, deep grunts filling your ears like the sweetest music.
You lay in his embrace, and trace your fingertips over his tattoos. Your stare is fixed on him, as he tells you various anecdotes from his long lifetime. You enjoy the opportunity to admire his beauty from up close. His eyes, so unusually benevolent as they stare outside the window and turn to you from time to time, to check if you're awake. The curve of his nose, the glimpses of his sharp teeth, his strong, masculine jawline. He is an art piece on his own.
After a while, he notices you struggling to stay awake. His hand on the back of your head nudges you to lay on his chest. He whispers you a good night, and runs his hand through your hair as you drift off. It's been a long day you've dedicated entirely to him, so he finds you worthy of this special treatment. After all, it isn't often that someone claims the title of both Sukuna's personal dancer and his lover, much less in the same day.
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therealcocoshady · 3 months ago
Note
Reader going into labor while Marshall is on tour 👀
Surprise Drop
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A/N : found what I wrote for this Ask a while ago. I had literally forgotten about this One Shot, it was in an abandoned space of my Google Drive 🙊. I have no idea why I never uploaded it over there ! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it ☺️.
Mind you, I added my own little twist to it, because I cannot imagine him going on tour while his partner is pregnant.
CW : Cryptic pregnancy - CocoShady writing about Dad!Marshall again because I love this trope
As he was close to finishing his set, Marshall seemed in his element. The crowd was roaring and fans were rapping along as he spat his verses that resonated throughout the stadium. The performance was a testament to the amount of work that had gone into putting that tour together, from the elaborate scenography to the setlist. His team was watching him from backstage, knowing an interruption so close to to the end of the show was out of the question. But tonight, unbeknownst to him, they were in a rush to get him out of there as soon as possible. Thirty minutes ago, Paul, his manager, had received a call demanding that Marshall flew back to Detroit as soon as possible. He’d been about to tell the lady, whose voice he had never heard, to go to hell and not to call this number again if she didn’t want him to press charges for harassment, but she had pronounced the magic word : your name. « Y/N is in the hospital, so you’d better have my son in law on the next plane to Detroit », your mother had ordered in a tone that left no room for arguing. And, as if the news of Marshall’s long time partner were not enough of a compelling argument, she had added something about your life being at stake. Scary and cryptic enough.
After consulting Tracy and some other trusted members of the team, they had agreed to let him finish the show. They knew he’d freak out as soon as they broke the news to him and, frankly, they needed the time to handle the logistics details and hurrying him to the airport. The private plane had been chartered, the driver already waiting for him outside of the venue, and his bags had been packed. For now, though, only few people knew about the disruption. They didn’t have enough details, and they couldn’t risk freaking out the whole team with a possible tour cancellation. Hopefully, you’d be alright and Marshall would be able to keep the tour going. Paul was nervously pinching his nose, silently hoping that he wouldn’t have to call the insurance company. The simple report of a performance at a later date would cost tons of money. Not to mention the PR they’d have to handle. And the manager absolutely refused to think about the worst case scenario.
When Marshall finally wrapped the last song of the night, Paul gestured for him to hurry up, not allowing for a proper goodbye to the crowd. As soon as he saw the frown on his manager’s face, he could sense something was wrong. « We need to get you out of there. A plane is waiting to take you back to Detroit. Y/N’s mom called. She is in the hospital ». There was no mention of your life being at stake, Paul figuring out that the urgency in his tone was enough and that the last thing anyone wanted was for Marshall to have a meltdown. He felt his heart sink, his mind running through all of the possibilities, none of them being good. He’d had you on the phone merely ten hours ago and everything seemed fine. « What happened? Is she ok? », Marshall asked. « I don’t have more details, Marshall. But from what I gathered… It’s serious and you need to get back », Paul replied. That much, he had figured. You were strong and definitely not the type to have him fly back over a sprained ankle. If you’d had your mother phone his manager, it must be pretty serious. Enough for his mind to go to the worst-case scenario. His vision clouded as he imagined you in a hospital bed, after some car wreckage or another tragedy. However, his assistant shook his arm and reminded him that he needed to hurry up.
Within minutes, they were being escorted to a car and driven to the airport. Then started the longest plane ride of his entire life. He tried calling your phone but it went straight to voicemail every time. Same for your mother’s. And the hot shower taken in the private plane’s bathroom, nor Tracy’s word of reassurance were enough to ease his mind. After a couple of hours, he finally received a text from his mother in law, addressing the numerous texts and voice messages he’d left. « Things are progressing. We’ll explain everything in person as soon as you get there». He wasn’t sure who ‘we’ was, or what ‘things’ were progressing. By the time the jet touched down in Detroit, Marshall was a nervous mess. He went straight to the hospital, leaving Tracy to drop his stuff home and, as he rushed to the reception and through the hallway, he finally spotted your mother outside of a room. « Is-Is she…Is Y/N ok? » he asked, absolutely out of breath. His mother in law placed a reassuring hand on his forearm and nodded, an undecipherable expression on her face, that looked like a mix of relief and exhaustion. « Everyone is fine, Marshall. We’re glad you came so quickly » she replied in a gentle voice. He let out a sigh of relief. You were fine. You were alive and breathing and, in the moment, that was all that mattered. Without a second thought, he opened the door to the hospital room and finally set his eyes on you.
You were sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around yourself, your eyes wide and full of worry. You looked exhausted and fragile and he immediately rushed to your side, wrapping his arms around you. « Babe. Oh, God, you scared me. What happened?! » he asked. « Marsh, » you said softly. « I-I didn’t know. I, I swear I didn’t…». He didn’t register what you said, his undivided attention on you and the sensation of his beating heart, processing the relief, the fact that you were fine. But then, he spotted your mom walking towards a corner of the room, where a small bassinet was standing. His eyes widened in shock. « What the fuck? » he let out.
It couldn’t be. He’d been home just two weeks ago and you were fine. And most of all : absolutely not pregnant. He certainly didn’t wear his glasses as much as he should, but he was certain he would have noticed if your body had been preparing to eject a human the size of a watermelon. He stared at you, then you mother, in shock. Tears were silently streaming down your face, while your mom looked at him with sympathy, as she held a baby wrapped in a soft, yellow blanket. « They said it was a cryptic pregnancy, » your mother explained. « Looks like this little one was playing hide and seek. No symptoms at all ». For a few seconds, Marshall was unable to breathe. He looked at you, trying to wrap his head around the news, replaying the last few months in his mind, wondering if there had been signs he’d missed. But you hadn’t seemed tired, did not eat more than usual, did not put on much weight… Nothing. Then, another wave of realization hit him. The vasectomy. About ten months ago, you’d convinced him to get one. None of you wanted to have a baby and you were fed up with your hormonal contraception, so he had agreed. And yet, there you were, in the hospital after giving birth to a tiny human whose gender, according to the blanket, was neither boy nor girl. A tiny, pale yellow chick. But you didn’t cheat. You would never do that to him. That much, he knew. He stared at you silently, not understanding how it was possible. « The surgery », he said. « How… ? I-I’m supposed to shoot blanks ». You looked down, realizing the turn this was taking. You’d asked the nurse very same question. « They told us to keep using protection for two months after it », you whispered. « We didn’t », he murmured. « Holy shit ».
You looked at him, giving him an apologetic glance. « I’m sorry », you whispered as you teared up again. The past few hours had been a blur of pain and shock, and now you were terrified. You had never expected to give birth out of the blue, to a baby you didn’t know was there, and nothing had prepared you to deliver that type of news. Marshall pulled you into his warm embrace and help you tight before placing a kiss on your temple. « It’s not your fault, my love » he said. Then, feeling heavy and fearful, he got up and walked to your mom, to have a look at the baby. He was immediately struck by the resemblance to his own baby pictures, that didn’t leave any room for doubt. That was his baby. « Is it…? », he began, mesmerized by the tiny, sleeping infant. « A baby girl. A very healthy baby girl », your mother announced with pride. « And I think she wants to meet her father », she added with a soft smile. He swallowed dryly then nodded. She handed it to him, and he held her with gentle care, feeling his whole world shift. The tension of the night immediately melted away, giving way to tears of relief and emotion. « Hi there » he whispered. « I’m-I’m your Dad ». He took his eyes away from her, looking up to you. « She’s beautiful » he said, his voice thick with emotion. You nodded, visibly relieved by the way he reacted. You were still feeling distant and hazy, not fully realizing that this baby was yours. You’d held her a couple of times but nothing had kicked in yet. Marshall, however, seemed immediately taken by the little one, as he was looking at her with amazement. The initial tension in his stance had eased up and, minutes later, he was cradling her as if it were the most natural thing for him, with the confidence of someone who’d been there before.
You stared at each other in silence, his eyes silently assuring you that everything would be alright. Then, your baby girl stirred and let out a soft cry. As if she wanted to remind the room of her presence, commanding attention. He looked at you with a grin and shook his head. « Guess she’s got my attitude », he joked. You mustered a smile and nodded. « Yeah. Your knack for surprise drops too, it seems ».
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eclipseberrycake · 1 month ago
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Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 7
AN: The long awaited part 7. Before anyone fears, no this isn't the end of the series don't you worry. I don't have many ideas for the next few parts, but I'm sure I'll think of something or one of you can help!
Also how do we feel about giving Reader a tail? /gen I have a few ideas I've been toying with with reader having a tail, but I don't want to cross the line between too self indulgent and reflecting of my character, rather than trying to be as inclusive as possible.
-> Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five -> Part Six -> Part Six 1/2
Warnings: Depictions of past trauma/ injury, past depictions of being turned into a Twisted/ seeing a loved one as a twisted/ recovering from being a Twisted, mentions of vomit, past depictions of losing a lost one, talk of scars (In a positive light, but just in case!)
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☁ The first few nights were hard. So, so incredibly hard. Not by any fault of your own, oh absolutely not, but that didn't make the nights any less taxing or offer them anymore rest.
☁ There were a few times you offered tearfully to sleep in your old room so they could hopefully get some rest, each one shot down with a stern No'. The mere thought of having you out of their line of sight was more than their nerves could take, especially somewhere where they couldn't reach immediately? Hard Pass.
☁ The first night was by far the worst. Cosmo can't say he really remembers recovering from being a twisted, but there was one thing that stuck out for him during the entire process. And that was you. You were there the entire time, gently pressing cool cloths to his forehead, helping him sip water, even keeping saltine crackers on hand in case his temporarily fickle stomach decided that food was somewhat acceptable.
☁ You were the same with Astro and Sprout as well, ensuring the recovery, as awful as it was, was still as seamless as you could make it. If there was one thing he did remember about healing from being a twisted, is that he would never wish it upon another being. Much less you.
☁ The first night you're returned, you're rushed to med-bay as a flurry of commotion happens. Those left behind are eager to see if you've been returned, especially poor Toodles who took your turning hard. She's holding Blu when they rush past, tears in her large eyes, but Rodger is quick to turn her away.
☁ Sprout is already barking orders with Ginger meeting them halfway, first aid kit in hand. They had given you minimal attention in the ride up, but they didn't have the time, space or resources necessary to give you proper medical attention.
☁ It's a flurry of action that follows right after. Astro stays up by your head, wiping the ichor that stained your mouth and clumped your fur. His cheeks are shiny as he does it, shaking his head every now and then before continuing his actions.
☁ Cosmo barely remembers all he did that night, there was so much that needed done. That wound you had received from-...From when you turned into a twisted had never closed, the excess ichor from being a twisted keeping you alive. It was an awful, horrid thought, but not one they could ignore as Cosmo hurriedly worked alongside his cousin to close it. Sprout busied himself with working on the claw marks across your face you had made in your confused state. Every bit he seemed to do made his grimace deepen. He wasn't sure what the other was seeing, but currently wasn't certain he wanted to know during this moment.
☁ Your teeth still remained sharp as you groaned in pain throughout the process, hands reaching back up to swat at the insistent burden yanking on your wounds, only for them to be caught by Shelly, who had followed to offer her help.
☁ She had felt awful about the entire situation, regardless if you would've done it either way. Vee as well, though she stayed further back to avoid getting in the way. Shelly's tougher skin made her more resistant to your claws and slashes, so she was a welcome helper, even if it made the working space a bit more cramped.
☁ Seeing you hurt like that was an awful feeling. Cosmo remembers feeling the bile burn at the back of his throat that night, increasing in every little noise or whimper of pain you made. Even when the worst was handled, he had to step back for a moment, hiding in Astro's chest as Sprout continued wiping away what was left. The same grimace was on his features, one much more intense than what was usually there when he was in doctor mode.
☁ He didn't speak more on it until far after Shelly had taken her leave with a tearful well wishes. Even then, the berry had only dragged a chair closer, hiding his face in his hands. Neither Astro nor himself knew where to go from there, and that just made them feel all the more worse as you seemed to fall into a fitful unconsciousness.
☁ Cosmo wasn't sure if it counted as sleep, honestly, not with how you still shook.
☁ "They have so many scars." Sprout finally spoke up, voice wavering before it cracked as he smoothed back his leaves, letting them fall back into place. "They hide them under their fur. How did-..." Sprout swallowed tightly at this before looking up at them with teary eyes. "How did we miss that?"
☁ Neither waited for a moment further before rounding around the medical bed to wrap their arms around the berry. He was tricky when it came to emotions, especially since this entire thing began, flickering between anger and denial like a coin, to see him break down like that was rare.
☁ "It's easy to miss." Cosmo nearly choked on the words, tears welling in his eyes as he flickered between watching your chest rise and fall to the floor. There was a crack in one of the tiles. You'd want that fixed, so no one tripped. He'd make not of it later. "Their fur covers it-"
☁ "Is that really an excuse?" Sprout cuts back in, his own eyes watching you in the same clinical way Cosmo found himself doing it. "For the others maybe. But us?"
☁ Cosmo couldn't find any rebuttal, swallowing tightly. He knows he himself has spent countless hours with his fingers running along your fur, playing with the stands and drawing shapes against the grain of it. He just never really focused on the skin beneath because he truthfully didn't think too. Looking back, maybe that was on him. He should've done better, done something more-
☁ "I don't think anyone's at fault." Astro's comment cut through the sudden silence. He had been dreadfully silent since getting back from the run so to hear him sound so exhausted was...jarring. He always had a sleepy, tired lilt to his voice, but to hear it like that made Cosmo's tail curl tighter against his back.
☁ Silence fell again before Astro was continuing. "I think, to a degree, it would be...more questionable if they didn't have any. They've been doing this far longer than you, me or even Cosmo's been in the picture. We can't stop them, but we can support them however possible as we have been." Astro swallows for a moment, using a star shard to bring a box of tissues closer. He takes one, wiping under his eye before setting it to the side. "They will always be like this. They'll be our self-sacrificing idiot who doesn't know when to stop, but that's why we fell in love with them. We can't change them and I hope none of us would try. Their scars are part of who they are. We-...I love every part of them, even the parts they may not love as much. Those parts we just have to love a little extra."
☁ The words stand, nearly tangible in the air for a long while. He's right. There are very few times when Astro isn't, but it's a jarring notion to understand what you truly went through. Even Cosmo himself hadn't known how long you and Poppy and Boxten had been doing it since he wasn't even the first returned. No, by the time he had been recovered, Finn, Shrimpo and Rodger had been well acquainted parts of the group and you had become comfortable in your role as a distractor.
☁ He wonders just how much of the burden you've carried silently with you. He's terrified of the answer you'd give if he asked.
☁ "I do...I do love them." Sprout choked, as if that was ever being brought into question. "I just- What if they hurt? What if every time we ask them to distract they're just a constant reminder of every past failure to them? They've done so much for all of us. Who are we to ask anything more?"
☁ "Like Astro said, it's who they are. I think if they truly didn't want to distract, they wouldn't. And I hope they would feel safe enough to come to us if the scars were causing them pain." The first tear falls down Cosmo's cheek, which is quickly wiped with a star shard covered in a tissue. "I mean, for heaven's sake, they turned into a twisted to save Vee on a run to save Shelly. If that's not the most selfless thing I've seen, I don't know what is."
☁ "Truthfully, I think I rather would've dealt with Vee's Twisted then theirs." Astro deadpans only to immediately flush a navy blue as Sprout cackles, Cosmo hiding his own laughs behind a hand. Astro practically swallows his tongue as he's quick to try and amend it with, "Not that I would wish that on any of us!"
☁ Sprout shakes his head as he finally leans back, his own cheeks shiny- which the star shard tries to wipe at only to get swatted at, making Astro pout. Both of Sprout's arms reach around to hook around both Cosmo and Astro as he takes a final deep breath. "We'll talk with them. Maybe now they'll see reason. Because yeah. I'm not dealing with that again."
☁ "They were so scary!" Cosmo whines, leaning on Sprout's shoulder. "But also-...Hear me out-"
☁ "Stoooop." Sprout groans, tipping his head back as Astro nods solemnly. "I'm hearing."
☁ Cosmo laughs at this before you're suddenly jumping up, cheeks puffed and they already know what that entails. Cosmo grabs the nearest trash can while Astro gently pulls back anything that could get in the way while Sprout makes for the nearest medication cabinet.
☁ Cosmo holds the trash can for you as you purge the excess ichor in your body, watching your heaves with a heartbroken glance while Astro rubs your back, even if he himself looks nauseous at the sight and sounds. He's quick to switch with Sprout when he returns, measuring out the stomach medication the berry had grabbed. It had aided the rest of them when it came to rejecting the ichor and they hoped it would with you too.
☁ In the very least, as awful as it was, it was a good sight to see as it meant you were recovering in the very least. Even if your heaves sounded painful and tears tracked down your cheeks. It would a pattern that would continue throughout the night unfortunately, which they would need to stay up to assist you with, but it was a chore they were more than happy to do. You had been the one to sit with each of them throughout the night, making sure they had all the comfort you could offer at the time.
☁ So even as the minutes ticked like hours, they knew it was all worth it. Every trip to empty the trash cash, every startled awakening at the sound of your gags, every wince as you pleaded for mercy. Anything to get you back.
☁ The following days are better. The next morning, right before it could be qualified as noon, you were cognizant enough to recognize where you were, eyes unfocused as you swayed, trying to sit up only for that to be one of the worst ideas you've ever had.
☁ The boyfriend on duty is quick to come to your side, with a hand on your back as soft whispers buzzed in your ear. You curled in on yourself, eyes scrunching shut before a deep breath had you finally stabilizing enough you could blink your eyes. Sprout was right there, offering you a gentle smile as he tried to figure out what exactly you were seeing.
☁ You practically threw yourself at him, pulling him close as tears burned your eyes. You cried into his scarf as his hands slowly curled back around you, squeezing you tightly to his chest as his own shoulders shook. "Oh. bud, I've missed you."
☁ "I'm sorry." You blab. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You cry, squeezing him tighter when it almost seems like he's going to pull away. You don't remember much about your time as a twisted except for spotting Sprout and smelling the ichor of a non-twisted toon being spilt. You prayed it wasn't you to cause that wound, that there was no wound at all, but subtly looking at his arm quickly dashes that hope.
☁ "No, no, bud you did nothing wrong." This time you allow him to pull away, only for his hands to cup your cheeks. "You're just as perfect as you always are." His green eyes shine with unshed tears, which quickly rectify that by trailing down his freckled cheeks. You sob at the sight, your own hands- with nails longer than you normally keep them- cupping his cheeks.
☁ Sprout crashed his lips against yours in a show of desperation, tears making the kiss taste salty as your shoulders fall in relief. IF he was okay, the others had to be okay, right? They had to be? You didn't hurt them too, did you? You prayed not.
☁ Pulling away, you angled his chin every which way, scanning his face as he gave you a few watery chuckles. "You're okay? All leaves, limbs and seeds?"
☁ Sprout caught your hands, pulling them down so he could look at you, nothing but sweet, adoring love in his eyes. "Leaves, limbs and seeds all attached." He coos, laying his forehead on yours as his shoulders heave with a long heavy sigh. "Oh, bud. You're okay."
☁ "You're not." You frown, feeling the tears threaten to burst out all over again. "I'm-"
☁ "It wasn't you." Sprout interrupts, making you blink. "No, a twisted flutter got me, but you? Even a twisted, you've proven you'll still protect us." His smile is sad, but relieved as you feel your stomach finally settle.
☁ You get a few moments more before the door is being slammed open, but not by another toon. No, it must've been ajar, because who else is waiting there but Blu herself, looking as grumpy as the day she accidentally fell into the snow in Bobette's shop, mewing in long, interrupted yowls as she trotted to the medical bed, jumping up and immediately crawling all over you.
☁ Sprout tried to grab her, but you waved him off, scooping up the baby and letting her place her paw on your cheek. You cooed at her, nuzzling your nose against her cold, wet one. She mewled once more before it delved into a purr, making you snicker. "I know, tell me all about how unfair your dads are."
☁ "Oi!" Sprout immediately called, looking only mildly offended before footsteps had you both looking over at the doorway once more. Cosmo was there, already panting as he leaned his head against the doorway. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she was sleeping and then suddenly just took off and-" He looked up at that point, only for his mouth to gape open. He stilled for a second as Astro popped his head in, looking at the pastry. "Did you find-"
☁ He too was left slack-jawed before Cosmo was moving and he was following, both wrapping you in tight hugs and a flurry of kisses. It was comforting and perfect, and enough to make you forget about how awful your stomach felt.
☁ They were quick to fill you in on everything that had happened in your absence and, honestly? Hearing Astro talk about having his best friend back made your heart thrum and how happy he seemed, moreso now that he had everyone in his little family back at long last.
☁ While your side still hurt and your muscles still sung from the strain put on them. being wrapped between them felt safe. Safer than you've felt since the moment of pure terror that wracked your entire nervous system the second you knew only one of you would make it to the elevator.
☁ Still, you knew there was something on the horizon. A discussion that needed to be had and it made whatever was left in your gut churn and rot further than it already had.
☁ It didn't come until later that night when you were finally back in your room, eating something soft and easy to digest (My personal fav is oatmeal but I know now everyone can eat that so y'all get to choose <3), chatting with Cosmo when a knock at the door made you look up.
☁ Astro had popped his head in, scanning for your form before immediately relaxing when he spotted you. "Are you okay with a few visitors? Absolutely feel free to say no."
☁ You honestly hadn't expected anyone to visit you, really. Goob and Scraps had both had their own tearful reunions with you, Goob especially, and Poppy and Boxten had visited as well. You weren't overly close with anyone else, but while confused, you nodded.
☁ Astro scanned you for a second, as if to see if you were lying, but when he found nothing he stepped more fully inside. Sprout followed, immediately wounding to your side and pressing a peck to your lips. You smiled at him before looking back over, eyes widening at the two toons standing there.
☁ Shelly looked nervous, but waved even as her smile wavered, her tail giving a small, short little wag. Vee looked miserable if you were honest. You had never seen the main so...upset, making you frown. Was she upset with you? You know you probably shouldn't have pushed her, but you had no other option at the time!
☁ Astro took his own spot beside, across from where Sprout had moved to sit beside Cosmo.
☁ "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Shelly begins, tapping her fingers together before meeting your eye. "I wanted to thank you personally. And apologize. It was me you were retrieving and-"
☁ "And it wouldn't have happened if I had just picked up the pace." Vee cuts in. She makes it a point not to look at you, making you frown, fingers curling around your blanket. Vee let out a sigh, antennae giving a little spark as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm...So, so so-"
☁ "You have nothing to apologize for." You hold up a hand, scrunching your features. "I made my choice. You had nothing to do with what i decided. I promise. i never would've done something if it wasn't something I was sure about doing. There was never a moment I was upset with you, either of you." You're quick to reassure, sending them both a smile. Shelly returns it quickly, but Vee only gives you a glance and you frown.
☁ That was Sprout's best friend. You knew you didn't have to get along with everyone, but you wanted to get along with these two especially.
☁ Shelly seemed relieved at least, which made Astro relax at least a bit, but that wasn't enough for you. "I promise, Vee. If anything I owe you all an apology." You wilted a bit, even if Vee finally looked at you. "My twisted is...not the best, even I could admit that and I should've planned with the twisteds better rather than risk putting you guys in that situation. So for that, I apologize." You continue, continuing even if Vee looks like she's going to cut in. "It's happened, and it's fixed already. We can just blame whoever started the Ichor operation rather than try to keep playing this 'who can blame themself the most' game."
☁ Vee gapes and you smile at her softly, opening your arms. "Hug it out with me? Therefore all is forgiven and we can't blame ourselves anymore." The television looks at you, then at Shelly, then Sprout before her shoulders fall and she's slumping forward. You wrap your arms around her, feeling the chill of her metal plates. Looking over, you make eye contact with Shelly, who smiles sadly at the action. You open one of your arms and the fossil is immediately burrowing into the hug as well with her tail whapping about.
☁ When you separate, they take their leave not soon after, seemingly much lighter than when they came in. But then you're left with the other three. Astro's who's already sitting beside you, but the other two crawl onto the bed so you're all sitting in a circle of types.
☁ Your eyes dart from one to the next to the next before falling to where your knuckles are white around the blanket, having returned to clutching the fabric. You have to actively uncurl your fingers.
☁ You know there's probably tons to discuss, but you don't even know where to start.
☁ So Sprout does. He's never one to beat around the bush, especially looking back to before you all were together, and it's something you greatly admire about the berry.
☁ "We saw the scars." Is all he says, his own eyes remaining downcast as he plays with his scarf. You swallow, debating your options before breathing out, letting down the walls you normally kept up around everyone else.
☁ "Most of them are front the beginning." You admit. "I wasn't a good distractor then. I wasn't even really okay. I did it when we absolutely needed one. We had none of the trinkets we do now and didn't even think about them at the time. So I was an extractor and Cosmo knows that me extracting is like teaching a fish to fly." You spill immediately, thinking back to the lacerations that once marred your skin. "I'm sorry if they bothered you. I tried to keep them as covered up as possible. in case they...upset you all"
☁ "It's not the fact that their there, starlight. Well, I mean, that's kind of part of it, but...Why didn't you tell us?" Astro prods, laying a hand on you knee as another gentle rubs your shoulder. You bristle at the question, rolling your shoulders for a second before responding.
☁ "They aren't number one on my list of discussion topics. I'd rather forget about them personally." Simple as that.
☁ There's silence for a second before Cosmo is raising his hand, pointing to a white line that circles around his forearm. "This is from my time as a twisted. You'd remember best, but my hand was all sorts of messed up, right?"
☁ You nod at this and he points to his eye, with a matching line circling around it, so faint if he wasn't pulling attention to it, most wouldn't notice. "Half my face too, right?"
☁ You nod once more and he mimics the action. "Are you ashamed of my scars?"
☁ "No!" You're quick to bark, immediately ready to quell any worries he has, but Cosmo isn't done, pointing to Sprout- who blinks at the finger like it personally offended him. "What about Sprout? He has his own scars. You ashamed of those?"
☁ "No, Cosmo that's not-"
☁ "Then what about Astro? He's got his fair share too." The pastry points to one of the hands on your knees, which indeed had it's own smattering of scars from his time as a twisted.
☁ "No." You stare him down, gaze hard as he meets your own just as challenging. "Then why does that change for you?" You don't have an immediate answer, and Cosmo pounces on that. "What makes your scars different from ours? Why would we ever be ashamed of your scars, of your journey, when you would never dream of even thinking about that of ours?"
☁ You gape at him, trying to find some sort of defense, but you can't. He seems satisfied at that, but it's not for long as you're speaking once more.
☁ "Mine were self-inflicted." You avoid looking at them, even as your heart practically chokes you. "You never signed up to be a twisted. I willingly trained and worked to become a distractor. These come with the territory."
☁ There's silence for a second before Sprout is speaking once more. "Do they hurt?"
☁ You frown at the question, but shake your head. "No. They don't."
☁ Sprout exhales in relief at this before leaning back on his palms. "This isn't meant to make you feel any type of way about them, bud. They're yours and we understand better than most that scars can bring...complicated feelings. There's just...so many. We just want you to care a little more about yourself."
☁ "Seeing you in danger all the time is hard on his heart." Astro gently jokes, even if he gets a light kick in return for the jab. The celestial takes a breath before leaning on your shoulder, one of his hands reaching to hold your own. "We just want you safe, starlight, above all else. The bed's too big for three of us."
☁ You take a breath that quivered in your lungs before nodding slowly. You had expressed to Astro before how terrified you were of your own twisted and never wished to expose it to them, but did so anyway.
☁ You could only imagine the fear they were feeling the entire time, especially on the retrieval.
☁ "I'm sorry. Not for doing what I did, I don't regret and never will." You began, finally looking back up at them. "But I agree. I've been a bit careless. It's a distractor's job to keep the twisteds occupied, but not by being a dumbass. I don't want to give up distracting though." By the end you're practically pleading.
☁ "And we would never ask you too." Sprout gives you a soft smile. "Even if you stress me the fuck out, you enjoy it. Just...maybe keep the distance between you and the twisteds a bit bigger. And keep an escape route open whenever possible. And a bandage on hand. And a can of pop. And-"
☁ You laugh, wiping your tears as you shake your head. "I get it. I'm sorry I scared you all."
☁ "Just remind us to never piss you off." Cosmo shakes his head. "You're scary when angry. Although, watching you protect Sprout like that-"
☁ "We are not having this conversation again!" Sprout immediately shuts down, hitting the pastry in the face with a pillow, quickly getting a swift hit in retaliation. The two tussle for a second, making you give a wet laugh as Astro nuzzles into you. Your finger taps on the back of his hand, silently asking for an explanation.
☁ He hums in acknowledgement at the unasked question, moving to kiss your shoulder. "You're hot in all forms. Cosmo especially likes your protective side."
☁ This makes you bark out a laugh, calling the attention of the other two back to you.
☁ "What are you laughing at?" Sprout grinned, straddling Cosmo who was squirming under the hand on his forehead keeping him pinned down.
☁ "You're all such dorks." You snicker, grinning before holding your hands out to them. "Hugs?"
☁ You're only able to let out a yelp at Sprout turns instead pull you into his chest, the other two also wrapped in the absolute bear hug. It makes your heart thrum happily, especially when Blu manages to pop her head up in a crevice and mew her greetings happily.
☁ So even while the first few nights were hard, as you lay there, wrapped in the embrace of your boys and feeling their laughter once more, you know that tonight won't be nearly as so.
☁ And if absolutely nothing else, that was what made it all worth it.
AN: Guys, remember how I made that joke (It wasn't a joke) about hating that Rodger and taking it out on their Bobette? GUESS WHO'S NOW A MARKETABLE PLUSH >:) Huge huge huge shoutout to @belifbel
RAHH LOOK AT THEM
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rxzennia · 11 months ago
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picky eater
– tales of the voracity pathstrider
✎𓂃 leviathan? dog under the table! avvy, won’t you come home in 18 hours 30 minutes? final tribute to you before your release <3
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aventurine shows up in your office without knocking, as he often does. you look up from your work, raising a brow – you’ve gotten so used to him doing this that you’ve given up asking him what he wants altogether.
“what, i can’t even visit my own secretary?” he teases, trotting up to your desk and setting down a delicate bag of… something. “lunch, my dear, lunch. you skipped it again, didn’t you?”
you ignore his pet name for you and stare at the bag, then at him, then back at the bag
it’s quite endearing how he tries to make sure you eat regularly
even though your composition doesn’t quite need you to eat the way other people do
not that you can’t, you just don’t really need to, so you don’t
it’s just less effort for you and more efficiency
but who are you to deny your boss’s goodwill?
“thank you,” you say, giving the entire bag a quick sniff. “the usual?”
“the usual.” he confirms
more like if he gets anything else there’s quite a high chance that you won’t like it
he’s realized that you’re picky as hell
even though you literally eat monsters for fun 
okay, maybe not for fun
his point still stands, though
when it comes to your taste buds they’re the most hard to please things ever
it’s okay, someday he’ll find your favorite foods
in the meantime he’ll keep getting you stuff he knows you’ll eat
this information is obtained through trial and error, by the way
read: a lot of trials and a lot of errors. mostly errors
you flash him a small smile under your scarf
he doesn’t miss it; he’s known how to read your expressions by the changes in your eyes now
you set your papers aside and carefully put the few boxes of takeout on your desk
you have limited space on your desk because of the way you set it up
you don’t like big, wide spaces
when you finally pull down your scarf, aventurine’s entire person lights up with joy.
“what?” you ask, because he looks like that every time he sees your face.
“nothing,” aventurine chuckles, “just thinking about how you used to kick me out whenever you had to take off your scarf.”
you look at him from the corner of your eyes, your spoonful of rice half-raised
you are unimpressed
“would you like me to kick you out?” you offer very kindly
so cold
but he knows you’re not actually going to kick him out
still. so cold.
“hey, i brought you food!” he whines
you nod in agreement. “and i said thank you.”
why are you like this
please, as much as he loves these back-and-forths with you, have some mercy
then again the sight of you eating well is really heartwarming
plus the fact that he’s the one who's treating you
worth it 10/10
you’re using utensils like everyone else, but somehow you still eat really quickly?
what in the sorcery
you finish the contents in the boxes that smell familiar
the trustworthy boxes™ 
and that leaves you with… one delicate little box
it smells… ominous. like a crime against your tongue.
you look at aventurine with doubt in your eyes. what is he trying to feed you this time?
“cake,” he says, “i asked around for the best cafe in town.”
“you asked topaz.” you slowly take off the ribbon and open the box.
ouch, must you be so truthful?
because who else is he supposed to go to for these things?
it’s not like he can just ask anyone!
and he really wants to know your preference towards sweet things
you’ll eat very, very lightly sweetened things
but what about proper dessert? 
you’re gentle towards the box; you’re staring at the canary-shaped cake
more examining than staring, actually
seems like you appreciate intricately decorated things
he’s making a mental list of things you like and don’t like
even though you’re not very cooperative with him on this
like
c’mon, he wants to know everything about you! he wants to treat you right! let him!!!
(you do not know of the existence of such a list)
you pick up the mini cake and sniff it
pokes it with your tongue when you think it passes your sniff test
sweet, but nothing too bad so far
time to take it further
you try a tiny bite in the corner
your senses get assaulted by sugar, if that even makes sense
no. 0/10 would not recommend.
but you keep your face blank so as to not be blatantly obvious
“hmm.” you set the pastry down on your desk like you’re deep in thought.
“how is it? you like it?” aventurine awaits your answer eagerly, watching you closely. a little too closely, to be honest.
“please do not ever visit that store for cakes again.” you say, getting a spoonful of the unbitten side and offering it to your boss. “mm.”
you’re telling him to try it? 
the way you’re asking is so adorable
not even words, just a little hum and a small wave of the spoon
he does have a try of the cake
and have you feed him while he’s at it
very happy right now
would be better if the cake wasn’t sugared like it’s a day’s calories concentrate
he understands your response now
trying his best to not cringe
also knows to never ask topaz for dessert recommendations again
“if you don’t like it, let’s just toss it out,” he suggests, because he wouldn’t be able to stomach that either
no
you got this from him
territorial snake moment when he tries to take it from your hands
you hiss
jumpscare, he did not expect that
also oddly happy that you’re protective of the stuff he gives you
also concerned
“you’re not going to force yourself to eat that, are you…?” 
“what are you saying, of course not,” you say, setting the barely-eaten canary cake on your desk all the while keeping aventurine’s hands away from it. 
then your scarf comes and swallows the thing in one gulp.
what.
“it…” aventurine points a shaky finger at the white fabric that morphed into a faceless serpent’s head at the ends. “it ate it? just like that?”
“if it can swallow monsters whole, it can eat an overly sweet cake.” you shrug, finally wiping your mouth and pulling your scarf back up.
aventurine’s jaw would be on the floor if it was physically possible. unfortunately, it isn’t. “i thought you could still taste when your scarf eats things?” 
“monsters.” you reply, patting your scarf as it settles into a regular piece of cloth again, “it tastes monsters. not food.”
so that's how you managed to finish even the things you absolutely hate? by having your scarf eat it?
aeons, there’s still so much he has yet to learn about you, isn't there?
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